


Farewell Wanderlust

by ForestSeaWitch



Series: The Bard and the Elf [4]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Anal, Chi grows a pair, Everybody Cries, Gentle Spanking, Geralt is still stupid, Jaskier cries again, Jaskier is not subtle, Jaskier is still feral, M/M, Sensuality, Sexy Professor, and then it gets saucy, argument, blowjob, ciri gets her dumbass nature from geralt, couples therapy, even roach knows you fucked up, geralt cries, geralt is emotionally constipated but what else is new, is Jaskier having a loving relationship an AU?, post mountain breakup, sensitive nip nops, soft fluffy threesome, throuples therapy?, we hate you please die, what the fuck's a beta, you're making Geralt uncomfortable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-06-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23125180
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ForestSeaWitch/pseuds/ForestSeaWitch
Summary: Jaskier was perfectly content in his new life, settled in one place and with a man who treats him like he's always dreamed of. Trouble seeks him out once more.
Relationships: Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion, Chireadan/Jaskier | Dandelion/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Chireadan, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Bard and the Elf [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642075
Comments: 71
Kudos: 107
Collections: Jaskier or Geralt/others (with or w/out eachother)





	1. Darken my Doorstep

Jaskier was giving lecture, as he had been doing every week, sometimes thrice weekly, for the past year. What was most incredible to him was that he’d felt content to remain here, with Chireadan, for so long. He had to admit that he didn’t even realize when the first year had passed, until the elf had surprised him with a new, custom lute. The engraving upon it was delicate, with golden script of Elder Speech along the neck, and the strings were almost magical, he guessed, in how they hardly ever needed to be tuned. How the healer had kept it a secret all that time, Jaskier would never know. The elf was always excited to tell him of almost every new purchase or idea he had for their home. It was this lute he had been using most, recently, though it had taken him quite some time to get comfortable enough bringing it into public. Such a beautiful treasure was not to be taken for granted.

**”It’s all well and good to write of the things that happen in your life,”** he lectured, pacing through the rows of benches as some students took down notes, some just watching the bard as he lectured, and some were even sketching. Jaskier enjoyed those, and encouraged it, even. It was still art and they were clearly vested in their interest, so why should he send them away when they were still absorbing his lectures? He’d even bought a sketch of himself from a student once, when it had been of particular quality. **”But do not become _too_ personal in your songs. A song of heartache and pain is brilliant, but remember not to name names, or be too specific in the reasoning.”**

Yes, _Toss a Coin_ had followed him, and many still requested the song. Jaskier had become numb to it by now, but he had learned his lesson. Do not name names in a song, ever. He glanced down at one student’s page, which featured a portrait of himself deep in lecture, gesturing passionately. **”My eyes sparkle a bit more than that, wouldn’t you agree?”** He lightly and playfully slapped the student’s arm, continuing on with the lecture. As it turned out, he had a bit of a talent for it. Naturally, of course, he _was_ a performer, after all, and so loved to have an attentive audience hanging on his every word.

A door at the back of the room opened, but Jaskier paid it no mind. He was used to people coming and going from his lectures now, though once it had been very distracting. **”The best method is to take what your experience has made you feel, and write it down in a messy, uncoordinated blob of thought. You’ll find rhymes and lyrics already in the mix. If something in particular doesn’t seem to work, then just wait. It might fit elsewhere later on, or in a-”**

Jaskier’s breath caught in his throat when he turned, having reached the front of the group. Standing against the wall, in the very back of the room, was Geralt. Six foot whatever, white hair that was tied the same as always, and an unreadable expression on his face. A rush of emotions hit the bard, but the one that stuck was anger. His nostrils flared and his mouth twisted up in a sneer. Most of the students had turned to look at what caught his attention so intensely. His stare was broken when he heard some of the students whispering about the White Wolf. So they knew him. And who was to thank for that?

**”I shall demonstrate for you,”** Jaskier was smiling tightly, turning to reach for his lute. **”This is a previously unheard song.”** Except by Chireadan, for whom the song was dedicated, of course. Gods, he was glad the elf wasn’t here for this. Jaskier took a seat on his usual stool, propping the lute up on his lap. He didn’t care that the students had already caught on to what had happened. Jaskier hardly needed witcher senses to feel the quiet anticipation in the room. Geralt looked uncomfortable, and for that he was spitefully pleased.

**” _When a heart has been broken, one turns inside_ ,”** he sang, plucking the strings he hardly needed to look at. Geralt shifted in place, avoiding Jaskier’s gaze. **” _So many pieces, they easily hide. What a shock, what a laugh, to be broken by love. Who would have thought you might heal me, dove_?”** Admittedly, it wasn’t his best work, but it had made Chireadan smile and kiss him endlessly at the finish. It had the opposite effect on Geralt, who now had turned and left the room. Oh…oh how dare he. Jaskier immediately stopped playing and set the lute aside, storming after the witcher.

**”Lecture dismissed,”** he answered the incredulous looks that followed him to the door. Jaskier looked around wildly once he was outside, and saw the tall figure stalking away towards the stables. No doubt Roach was there. Or a new Roach. Jaskier found he didn’t care. **”Geralt!”** he shouted, running after the witcher.

Apparently that surprised him, but how could he imagine that Jaskier _wouldn’t_ chase after him? Geralt halted in place, and took a few steps backwards when he realized that Jaskier was not slowing down. The bard ran straight up to the witcher and laid the most aggressive punch he could muster right on that chiseled jaw. **”Gods! Ow!”** Jaskier shook his hand with a whimper while Geralt just _stood_ there. In fact, he was smirking a little bit. Jaskier snarled and slapped him in the same spot, ignoring the sting that shot through his palm.

**”Jaskier-”**

**”No. No, don’t you _dare_ ‘Jaskier’ me right now.”** He was flushed with anger, his heart was beating against his chest like a wild horse rushing an open field. **”Two years. It has been two _fucking_ years, you bastard. And you…you can’t just come here, now, when I’m…you can’t _do_ this, Geralt!”** He shoved at Geralt’s chest, but the man didn’t budge. Jaskier refused to cry. He couldn’t. Not over the witcher, not again. So many tears had been shed for the man, for the way he had left. The anger in his stomach was still churning, boiling, making him need to lash out in some way.

**”I’m sorry.”** And that made him even more angry, as evidenced by the second slap he tried to land on Geralt. The witcher caught his wrist, and for a moment he had the audacity to look annoyed with Jaskier. He deserved far worse than a few slaps, and surely he had to know it!

Jaskier yanked his hand away, staring daggers into Geralt. **”Why?”** he asked. However the witcher chose to answer that was on him. 

**”Lambert told me of a bard living here with his elf. I tried to find you, Jaskier. For so long.”**

The bard laughed, a hollow and mirthless noise, and waved his hand in disbelief for the statement. **”I believe exactly none of that. Except perhaps the bit about Lambert. But…but you…Geralt, you _left_ me. You shattered my heart and I…”** If he kept going on, he was going to cry, and the witcher was not allowed to see him cry.

He wasn’t sure if Geralt had picked up on that, but the witcher tried to hug him. And how ridiculous was that? The witcher had _never_ shown the tendency to reach for physical affection, in all the time the bard had known him. Jaskier shoved away from him, furious. **”Don’t. Don’t do that. You cannot expect to just stride in here and have my forgiveness. You - _don’t touch me Geralt_!”** Geralt had attempted to pull him into a hug again, and this time Jaskier caught him by surprise with another slap.

**”M-master Pankratz?”** a timid voice came from behind him. Jaskier whirled, his hair a mess and his jaw tight. The young student was holding his books and lute, looking nervously between the bard and witcher.

**”Zofia. Thank you. I…apologize for my hasty retreat. Tell the others I’ll hold an extended lecture in two days’ time.”** Jaskier smiled at the girl as he collected his things, and she scurried away to give his message to the rest of the class. 

**”So you really are a teacher, then.”** Jaskier looked at the witcher with a disgusted sneer. For once in his life, he had no idea where to start with his words. Even when he was flustered, there was always something that came stuttering out of him. Jaskier rearranged his books so they were in their proper order, hating the silence that hung over them right now. 

**”Leave me be, Geralt,”** he finally choked out. Geralt looked hurt by that, and Jaskier both hated and loved that he had made the witcher feel something. He turned his back on Geralt and walked away with an even pace. If he looked back, he would be lost, and Geralt would see the tears streaming down his face.  


  


* * *

  


  
**”Jaskier!”** Chireadan brightly greeted him, though he didn’t look up from his mending. The bard had torn his favorite doublet the day before, but the elf was fortunately talented in sewing. **”Your lecture was a short one today, but I am nearly…Jaskier? What’s wrong?”** Chi had finally looked up, seeing the bard leaning against the door, silently crying. He stood and rushed over to Jaskier, taking his things and setting them aside. Chireadan returned, to hold and gently rub his arms. 

**”Chi…Chi make love to me. Fuck me. Now.”** Jaskier hiccuped, grabbing the elf’s face and trying for a kiss. 

**”You are distraught,”** the healer pulled back from the attempt, frowning.

**”I _need_ you. NOW!”** Jaskier grabbed Chireadan around the waist, pulling him in and forcing a rough kiss on him.

**” _Jaskier_!”** Chireadan’s voice was tense and sharp, and for a moment it caught the bard by surprise. He’d never heard the elf raise his voice like that before. Jaskier shook his head and began to pull at Chi’s trousers. The next thing he knew, he had fallen to the floor, a hot sting on his cheek.

**”You…did you just…hit me?”** Jaskier sat up, holding his cheek in surprise. Chireadan had never been violent in all the time he’d known the elf. The healer rushed to him now, helping him up.

**”I’m sorry…Jask I am so very sorry. You were scaring me. Are you alright?”** Jaskier frowned and let himself be led to their bed, where he took a seat, still rubbing his face. 

**”I…didn’t realize how strong you are.”** That seemed like something he really should have known. Why had he never noticed before now? Jaskier was pulled into Chireadan’s lap, and after a moment of trying to hold it in, he allowed himself to cry freely. The elf gently scratched through his hair, singing him a soft lullaby in Elder Speech.

**”The witcher came back,”** Jaskier finally managed, once his breathing had evened.

**”Lambert?”** Chireadan sounded confused.

**”No.”**

**”Ah.”**

They sat in silence for a long while, only this time it hung heavily, like it had just moments ago with Geralt. Damn him and damn his timing. Jaskier was happy here. He had a life. Why did the Butcher get to show up just to wreak havoc on his emotions like this? It wasn’t fair. Like liquid, Chireadan slid himself down, laying behind Jaskier and holding him tight about the waist. The elf rested his forehead against Jaskier’s back, breathing in time with him, and helping the bard even his breaths to a more reasonable state.

**”I’m sorry, Chi.”**

**”You’re upset. You shouldn’t be sorry.”**

Gods praise him, how could the elf ever be anything but perfectly patient with him? **”He shouldn’t still make me _feel_ like this. I love you. I’m happy here, with you, in this town, and he…he just comes back and…and…”** Jaskier didn’t need to finish that, really. Chireadan had seen what happened as a result.

**”The pain he gave you,”** he began carefully, **”It is not something for me to heal. I can grow a new garden in fresh soil. But I cannot rebuild what someone else has stolen.”** Jaskier hated how much sense that made to him, in all its whimsical metaphor. Chireadan slipped a hand beneath his doublet, and then pulled the undershirt from where it tucked into his trousers, sliding the same hand beneath that as well, and resting it against Jaskier’s chest.

**”I know you love me, Jaskier. You show me this every day, in the little ways you touch and look at me. I do not doubt it for a moment. It does not change your love for me, to still feel hurt by him.”**

Jaskier shut his eyes and felt more hot tears pour down the side of his face. He pressed a hand over his clothes, resting it against where Chireadan’s hid, soft and warm against him. It centered him, reminded him that he _was_ loved and wanted. 

**”Perhaps it will help if you speak to him.”**

The bard could not have turned faster, staring at Chireadan with complete shock. **”Chi…are you alright? That…that is a _terrible_ idea.”**

The elf shrugged, and kissed Jaskier chastely. **”Was it random, then? His passing through?”**

Jaskier frowned, looking away. **”No.”** He sounded as miserable as he looked, in this moment. **”He…said that he’d been looking for me. The other witcher, Lambert, he’s the one who told Geralt I was here.”**

Chireadan nodded knowingly, with a sympathetic, caring smile on his face. **”Perhaps he knows the pain he caused, then. That is why it hurt to see him. To speak with him. A wound must be reopened, so that it may heal again.”**

**”You’re just saying that because that’s how you do it,”** Jaskier pouted at him.

**”Maybe so. But I think it will help.”**

Jaskier shifted so that he could nuzzle against Chireadan’s chest. The elf made far too much sense, with his logic and reason. Couldn’t he simply tell Geralt to fuck off, like the witcher had done to him so many times? _”If life could give me one blessing…”_ his mind reiterated the hateful phrase to him once more, as if he’d never stopped hearing it. 

**”Jaskier,”** Chireadan spoke his name so gently.

**”Fine. But I won’t speak to him tonight. He can stew in the mess he’s left for now.”** With any luck, he’d give up on Jaskier, again, and leave before daybreak. Somehow, the bard already knew that wouldn’t be the case. Geralt would remain stubborn as ever, and if his intent was…well, what _was_ his intent, here? Jaskier wasn’t sure he cared to truly find out, other than to attempt this healing once and for all. 

Chireadan kissed his forehead, and lifted his chin. **”Shall we have fruits and wine brought here? Perhaps some meats…and a bath. I think we both ought to have a warm bath, tonight.”** Jaskier nodded, leaning his face up to kiss the underside of his elf’s chin. This was one of his worst days in a long while, and still Chireadan was calm and understanding. What a fool Yennefer was, eh? To have this affection waiting for her, and to ultimately ignore it. That made him feel a slight better, knowing that she had rejected two men who had loved him. Jaskier grunted at that thought. No, Geralt had never loved him. Geralt had _used_ him. Nothing more.

**”A bath sounds perfect, Chi. Will you teach me that song you just sang for me? It was beautiful.”**

Chireadan kissed him, slow and lovingly, before sitting up. **”Of course, my love. You rest. I’ll prepare the evening for us.”**

Jaskier fell into an uneasy nap while the elf made arrangements, and he cried a little more when Chi left to fetch their meal for the night. He felt terrible, for having brought this cloud to their lives again. And then he felt angry at the witcher, for having caused it in the first place. He would speak to Geralt, and then send him away, for good this time.


	2. You Make Me Ache

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Geralt admit he was wrong? Let's find out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I'm using titles and lyrics from The Amazing Devil's albums. They're so perfectly fitting.

_If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take **you** off my hands._ Geralt had regretted those words the moment they flew past his lips. It was too hard to look at Jaskier, then, seeing the pain and devastation in his face. Geralt had caused that. He hurt the people who got close to him, that was always his fate. He had wanted to turn and grab Jaskier, pull him into a tight embrace, and apologize a thousand times until the bard believed him. But he was too damned stubborn, and he couldn’t stand to see Jaskier look at him like that. Instead, he let the bard go. Leave him for good. And it had hurt. Just as bad as Yennefer rejecting him, perhaps even worse. 

But then he had regretted it. All of it. Geralt had sat atop that mountain for a full day, hearing all the camps being packed away. Jaskier had hurried his packing, and Geralt was worried that he might fall in his haste. He should have helped. But he just sat, sulking and stubborn. Borch had come to check on him, in his human form. 

_**”You let her go,”** the dragon had commented._

_**”She let me go,”** Geralt grunted in response._

_**”And the bard?”** The witcher frowned, glancing at Borch for a moment. _

_**”Jaskier can take care of himself. He doesn’t need me.”** Geralt couldn’t imagine anyone who would have stayed by his side as long as the bard had. Jaskier had tried to confess his love, more than once, and Geralt had always stopped him. If they were no more than bedmates, then it would hurt less, should anything ever happen to the bard. _

_**”If you say so.”** Borch had left him to his own devices after that._

Geralt had eventually descended the mountain, and finding Roach alone had twisted his gut in a peculiar way. Especially when he noticed the braids in her mane. Someone had taken the time to groom her, take care of her, while he’d been up there. Geralt had known exactly who had done it, but it hurt to even think, let alone say the name out loud. Roach had whinnied when he attempted to undo one, and so Geralt had left them in, until he eventually had to brush out her mane. That had turned his stomach, and Geralt shoved down all the feelings that threatened to rear their heads as he slowly untwisted the braids. 

So he threw himself into hunting monsters, becoming wildly reckless and careless and nearly getting himself killed more times than he could count. But then he’d found Ciri, and he was trying. Gods, was he trying. First to actually claim her, and care for her. Then to connect with her, in ways he’d been trying to avoid for years. Being a father to the princess had brought unexpected challenges and hardships, but the most challenging of all was speaking honestly about the things that went on in his mind. 

And wouldn’t it just be the case, that of course Ciri had known who Jaskier was, by his reputation as a singer. But she never realized the pair had traveled together. Geralt told her some of the rest of their story. That he had felt a certain way for the bard, though he left out the sordid details. Geralt didn’t know how to broach that subject with a young girl, and hoped that he wouldn’t have to be the one to give that particular talk. Ciri hadn’t spoken to him for nearly two days, after he told her why Jaskier was no longer with him. 

**”You should find him,”** she finally spoke up while they ate supper. **”You were mean and awful to him. All he wanted was to sing for you and love you.”** Children really did see the world in the most simple of terms, didn’t they? Geralt grunted, getting a glare from the princess.

 **”Alright. I’ll find him.”** That had finally satisfied Ciri, and they had moved on the next day.  


  


* * *

  


  
It had taken longer to find where Jaskier disappeared to than Geralt expected. He would have thought the bard might be playing courts, or touring the continent itself, bringing audiences in from all over. But there were just…no signs. Geralt had feared the worst for a time, though he never told Ciri his worries. She was still so young, she didn’t need to feel that stress. 

That was, until he had met Lambert somewhere near Oxenfurt. Ciri was intimidated by him, but then told Geralt one night that she thought he was quite handsome, for being an old witcher. Lambert stayed with them for a few nights, until he began telling Geralt of his own travels.

 **”You know the bard, who sings the song about you? Called you the White Wolf,”** he’d laughed. Geralt did not find it amusing, but was paying close attention to the other witcher’s words. 

**”Saw him in some shithole of a town,”** he’d began.

 **”Where?”** Geralt growled, already of a mind to pack everything on Roach and head out immediately.

 **”Eh, somewhere near the Bleobheris. Anyway, I saw him and the little fucker shit a brick, hahaha!”** Lambert stifled his laugh when he saw the look on Geralt’s face. **”He’s holed up with some elf, now. Giving lectures or lute lessons or some ilk.”**

Geralt and Ciri left the next day. It took a few tries, visiting towns in proximity of the sacred tree, before he finally discovered the one Jaskier had lived in. For more than a year now, apparently, if the locals were to be trusted. The witcher bought a room, though he left Ciri there to her own devices for a few days, while he went to take contracts in the next town over. He used any means he could, to distract himself and procrastinate; he’d never felt nervous before, and yet he didn’t know what he might say to Jaskier, when they came face to face again. 

**”You should hug him,”** Ciri offered her own advice. **”When you found me and hugged me, I felt safe for the first time in a long time.”** Geralt wasn’t sure that was a good idea, but perhaps it was worth keeping in mind. 

Geralt had stalked Jaskier from a distance for nearly a fortnight, watching him go to some building a few times a week, or to inns and shops with the elf. Chireadan. The healer who had loved Yennefer. Geralt remembered him, and it had made him angry. And then sad. But he could tell Jaskier was happy. Seeing the bard with a beard had thrown him. He looked handsome, and older, but his blue eyes still sparkled the same.

He regretted everything, when he followed the lovers to a lake in the middle of the woods. They never knew he was even there, watching from across the other side of the water, hidden among the trees. He could hear their conversation, and wished he didn’t have heightened hearing, for the things he heard. They were truly in love, and Geralt ached for the fact that he had never opened himself to Jaskier’s affection like that. He’d denied it, and now he was suffering for it. But maybe pushing Jaskier away had been the best thing for the bard.

Geralt wrestled with his thoughts for a few days after that, and Ciri had threatened to scream so loud it made the building collapse around them, if he didn’t at least go talk to Jaskier.

 **”He’ll hate me,”** Geralt had protested. It was ridiculous, arguing with a child. And yet he did so, maybe because he really did want to apologize.

 **”Well I hate you right now,”** Ciri pouted back. **”So just go tell him you were stupid and you’re sorry.”**

  


* * *

  


He knew that today was the day Jaskier did his lessons, or class, or…well, whatever it was he did. _”My eyes sparkle a bit more than that, wouldn’t you agree?”_ he heard Jaskier speaking inside the room. Geralt had grown curious, and wondered what the bard could be talking about. He slipped into the room, but remained back near the door. If things went badly, he could leave and forget this venture. Or try his best to. Listening to Jaskier lecture these students was oddly soothing. He wished he could have listened to a full lesson, to hear the man go on and on about poems and songs and all the rest.

Geralt didn’t know what to expect, the first time Jaskier laid eyes on him, but it wasn’t this. The sheer hatred in his eyes, the rush of the smell of boiling anger aimed directly at the witcher. Geralt was acutely aware of the eyes on him and the whispers, gossiping about what they thought the previous relationship might have been. And then Jaskier, in typical fashion, broke out a song aimed to embarrass the witcher. And it worked; for the first time Geralt could remember, he had a flush creeping into his cheeks. He turned and left, before he had to listen to more.

The last thing he expected was for Jaskier to follow him, but he should have known better. Hearing his name from behind him, Geralt turned. He watched as the bard broke into a run, and quickly realized it was not just to catch up to him. Sure, he deserved the punch, and perhaps the slap as well. He never knew Jaskier to be so willingly violent towards him before. Whatever had happened in the past two years had changed something in him, and Geralt found he liked the fire in him. Even if it was aimed at him. 

_”Why?”_ the bard posed an impossible question. Geralt didn’t know where to start with that. Why had he yelled at Jaskier in the first place? Why had he let the bard go alone, down and off the mountain? Why was he coming back now? The simplest one to answer was why he’d come here, he guessed. Geralt knew that wasn’t the one Jaskier wanted answered, by the way the bard laughed at him. It wasn’t his bright, joyful giggle, but a dark and humorless one. Geralt didn’t like the sound of it one bit. 

He could smell the tears that threatened to spill over Jaskier’s cheeks, and decided that perhaps Ciri was right. Though when he tried to hug the bard, he was first shoved, and then slapped, yelled at even, for trying to do so. Jaskier _did_ hate him, then. Geralt just stood, awkwardly and silently, as a fearful student bravely interrupted the squabble. He had damaged Jaskier, too badly to repair, and Geralt knew it. It hadn’t just been the fact that he’d left, after Yennefer had ended things between them, but that he’d treated Jaskier so poorly all those years they were together. 

**”So you really are a teacher, then,”** he tried to lighten the moment, awkwardly. And it didn’t work, naturally. He could smell the tears that Jaskier let go the second he’d turned away, and decided against chasing after him. There was so much he wanted to say, but still couldn’t bring himself to. This couldn’t be right, to upset the bard when he was making a life for himself here. Geralt watched until Jaskier turned between buildings, headed towards his home. 

**”Fuck.”** But he’d at least apologized. It was as he feared, though. Jaskier hated him, and wanted nothing to do with him. He’d sent Geralt away now, like Geralt had once done. He deserved that, he guessed. But it hurt. The witcher wasn’t prepared to face Ciri again, not yet. She was going to ask how it went, what Jaskier said, and Geralt was not ready to have that conversation. Instead, he went to Roach, who never spoke back to him. Not out loud, anyway. Though every mare had her own personality, they always seemed to be able to communicate their thoughts with the witcher. Or he projected his own response onto the horse. However it worked, it worked.

 **”Steady girl,”** he stroked the mare’s neck as he approached, pressing his face into her mane and breathing in the scent of horse. It was a comfort, familiarity. Roach whinnied softly, knocking his shoulder with her nose.

 **”No. I saw him,”** Geralt sighed, grabbed for the brush to take dust and dried sweat off her. **”He wasn’t happy to see me. Not one bit. Can’t blame him. I treated him horribly and left him…left him. You weren’t there.”** Life had granted him the blessing, but Geralt found he didn’t want it. It was less of a blessing and more of a curse, to suddenly have Jaskier gone from his life. Geralt fell silent for a while, focusing on the tangles in Roach’s mane, the fly bites that needed attention on her rear, anything to distract himself.

 **”I shouldn’t have let him go down that mountain alone,”** he muttered, and Roach snorted her agreement. **”You don’t have to be so eager to agree,”** Geralt shook his head. He fixed a feeding bag to her stall, and pat the mare’s neck. 

**”I’m famished. Ought to bring some food to our guest, too.”** He was always careful about uttering Ciri’s name in public, no matter how safe or calm a town felt. There would always be someone willing to sell their knowledge to the highest bidder. Geralt trusted no one. 

Geralt left for a tavern, drinking an ale while he waited for his food to be prepared. He would take it to Ciri and then tell her how terribly this had all gone. As he drank, the elf entered the establishment, apparently there to request a tray of cheeses and fruits. For Jaskier, Geralt had no doubt. His lover was comforting him, now that Geralt had ruined his day and ended his class early. He had no intention of alerting the healer to his presence, but apparently his was an aura that could not be ignored.

The last time they had seen one another, Geralt had given the elf such an evil stare that it scared him away from the inn. It was the first time he’d shown Jaskier how he felt. But tonight, Chireadan cast a very disgusted gaze at him, and actually marched himself up to the witcher, once he had exchanged word and coin with the barkeep. Geralt looked to a side, and thought the elf might actually leave him alone. No such luck. Chireadan gripped the back of the opposite chair, staring down at him. They were both silent for a long time, until Geralt finally looked up, to see the elf glaring at him. He didn’t realize that the healer was capable of making such a face. 

**”I struck Jaskier. For the first time since I have known him. Because of you.”** Geralt frowned at the elf. With a sigh, he nudged the chair with his foot. Chireadan shoved it right back into place, refusing to sit with him. **”Whatever you have done to him…you must undo it.”** Geralt could feel the burn in his neck at that. Being told off by this elf, who looked like he could barely swat a fly effectively.

 **”I didn’t intend to distress him,”** Geralt grumbled, taking a swig of his ale. **”I wronged him and hoped to make it right.”** He hated the stare that burned into him now. Geralt had once chased him away with a similar stare, and he understood why, with the eyes that bore into his soul. 

**”I told him it would be best to speak with you.”** That surprised the witcher, enough to the point that it showed plainly on his face.

 **”Why would you tell him that?”** If it were the opposite, and his lover was beyond console because of a former love coming back into their lives, he would want the responsible party dead. By his own hand. He would hardly suggest his lover speak with them.

 **”Because I cannot heal something that deep. It was all going well, and he was happy, witcher.”** The pain in Chireadan’s voice, knowing that it was because Jaskier was also in pain, made Geralt's heart ache deeper than anything. He had caused this, the elf was right. Geralt stared down into his ale for a few long moments.

 **”Then I will stay. Until Jaskier is ready to talk to me.”** He had been planning on leaving at first light tomorrow, and leaving the bard in peace. But that would likely have caused more trouble than staying might.

 **”Good. That…is good. I will send word when he’s ready. We know all the innkeepers. They will make sure you get the message.”** Chireadan seemed fit to tell him more, but instead turned to return to the bar. He took a few steps and then turned back. He looked less fiery and more sad, frowning at the witcher. **”Jaskier is a good man, Geralt. He didn’t deserve what you did.”**

Geralt knew that already, and hardly needed a reminder of it. The elf collected his food and left, long before Geralt’s meals were ready. It gave him plenty of time to think of how he could make it up to the bard. Though he felt far more ashamed than he had before, this felt like a better outcome than simply seeing Jaskier did. At least Ciri would be happy.


	3. Love Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier finally agrees to have a conversation with Geralt.

Jaskier had not been too happy when Chireadan informed him of the conversation he’d had with Geralt. Of course he would rather Chi have done that, rather than hide the fact from him and find out later on from the witcher. However, he was _very_ impressed that the elf had stood up to the witcher, for him. It was the most flattering thing that anyone had done for him. Especially considering Chireadan had never stood up for himself. Jaskier found it fascinating and arousing, though how could he feel that way when he was trying to be annoyed with the elf? 

**”So…he tried to invite you to sit with him?”** Jaskier mimicked the situation, slowly pushing a chair towards the elf with his foot. 

Chireadan didn’t seem to understand what Jaskier was doing, nodding solemnly as he put his hand on the back of the chair. **”But then I refused him. I won’t sit with the man and speak as though he did nothing wrong.”**

**”How did you refuse him again?”**

The elf hesitated, confused. But like always, he entertained Jaskier’s request, putting his other hand on the chair and pushing it in. 

**”Uh huh. And what was the face you were making?”** Chireadan had looked strong and stern when he spoke of Geralt, earlier. Although maybe it was the look on Jaskier’s face that finally clued him into what was really going on here. The way Jaskier bit just the corner of his lip and how his eyes vaguely glazed over while he watched Chireadan was the most telltale of signs.

 **”Why are you fixated on this moment?”** the elf asked. He walked over to kneel before Jaskier, stroking his cheek and scratching through his beard. It was hypnotic, the feeling of Chireadan’s fingers tending him. 

**”Because the thought of you telling off a witcher is _arousing_ , Chi. I…I can’t get enough of that idea.”** Jaskier slowly cupped Chireadan’s face and pulled him up into a tender kiss. The elf was giggling, and put a hand to Jaskier’s wrist. 

**”You feel better this morning,”** he made note of the obvious. Jaskier was slow and gentle as he pulled Chireadan to lay atop him on the bed. 

**”Because of you,”** Jaskier sighed between kisses. They were still in their bedclothes, which made it especially easy for the bard to slip his hands down the back of Chireadan’s pants, gripping his ass with a gentle massage. **”Chi…please? I’m not like I was yesterday,”** he promised in a whisper, before kissing the elf again. 

Chireadan was careful and wordless, kissing down Jaskier’s jaw and neck. He gently mouthed the sensitive spot, right where Jaskier was most easily driven crazy. The space where his neck met his shoulder. The bard’s skin rose in goosebumps, and he slid his palms up Chireadan’s back, bunching up his chemise nightshirt. **”Patience, my love,”** the healer whispered against his neck. **”I would like to care for you first.”**

Jaskier moaned softly, tipping his head back. Chireadan took the opportunity to ease off the bard’s shirt, planting soft kisses up his stomach as he did. Jaskier pulled the chemise up and over his head, and the elf took him off guard by suddenly sucking and flicking the tip of the tongue against one of his nipples. Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat, and he struggled to get the shirt off, reaching for Chireadan’s hair as soon as his hands were free. 

Ever since the elf had discovered that Jaskier had _particularly_ sensitive nipples, he had loved toying with them to make the bard squirm and pant in desperation for him. **”Chi…”** he whimpered, stroking both his thumbs over the elf’s ear tips. It was a good thing _those_ weren’t sensitive, or else the pair would have had a lot more public sex. Well…was that a good thing at all, Jaskier wondered. 

**”Shhh,”** Chireadan leaned up to kiss him again, giving him that sweet smile, before descending with a line of patient kisses and gentle nips. He reached the bard’s waistband, and Jaskier could not have lifted his hips faster, as the fabric was pulled down them. His cock was already half-hard. Chi knew just the thing to complete his arousal, kissing up Jaskier’s thigh and mouthing at his balls, while one hand gently pulled his foreskin back. The sudden cool air at the tip of his cock made Jaskier shudder and gasp with a sharp inhale. 

**”Do you think you can be quiet, my love?”** the elf asked, his tone gentle but naughty. Jaskier loved it when he sounded like this. 

**”I don’t know,”** Jaskier breathed, massaging Chireadan’s scalp.

 **”I think you can try,”** came a smiley response. It was one of their games they sometimes played together. Jaskier always lost, but he never seemed to care about that. There was no real way to lose these games. 

When the elf took Jaskier into his mouth, it made the bard jolt and quake. He grit his teeth, groaning low in his throat. It was going to be difficult to be very quiet with that slow, lapping mouth engulfing him. Chireadan was attentive and giving, all the time, especially when he sucked on the bard like this. And it drove Jaskier absolutely crazy. He was already dangerously close to losing when the healer pulled away, rubbing slow lines up and down Jaskier’s legs. 

**”You are beautiful like this,”** Chi smiled, wrapping a fist around Jaskier and slowly pumping. When they kissed, Jaskier used the chance to moan long and low between their mouths. **”And you are cheating,”** the elf giggled, tapping the bard’s nose with his forefinger. 

**”It’s not cheating, it’s taking advantage,”** Jaskier retorted with a grin. He kissed Chireadan, drawing it out until the elf slipped back down to suck once more. When his cock hit the back of Chireadan’s throat, Jaskier broke and let out a warbled moan. He could _feel_ his lover laugh around him, and there was no sexier feeling in the world. 

**”Ah…you are ready,”** the healer chuckled softly, pulling quickly on Jaskier’s cock until the bard writhed and moaned. He gripped the sheets, toes curling and thighs tensing. Right when he was about to tell Chireadan he was nearing orgasm, the elf slipped his mouth over him one last time. He suckled and swallowed down every last bit of cum Jaskier gave him, while the bard tried desperately not to howl. The healer even sucked beyond his final drops, making Jaskier whimper and grunt, desperately gripping into his hair. 

His cock slipped out from those pouted lips with a gentle _pop_ , and Jaskier welcomed the weight of his lover on top of him. He kissed all over Chireadan’s face, and then took his mouth with a low groan. **”Here…come here…”** Jaskier pulled him down so they were facing one another, lying on their sides. He guided one hand to his own ass, before reaching into Chireadan’s pants to pull on his cock.

 **”And…what would you like me to do with that?”** Chireadan asked with breathless curiosity. His hand gently groped and pulled at Jaskier’s cheek.

 **”Hit it a little bit?”** Jaskier kissed him again, and the elf gave him that same look he had the first time such a request was made. This time it was slightly different, though, and Jaskier couldn’t quite understand why. 

**”I don’t like that I did that, yesterday. I don’t want to do it again. It hurt you, and that is not…don’t ask that of me, Jaskier.”**

Jaskier kissed him softly, stroking his jaw with a thumb. **”It’s different now,”** he assured the elf. **”Yesterday I was being…different. Not good. This is…hmmm well…you trust me, right?”** Chireadan nodded, though looked suspicious of his intentions. Jaskier kissed him again, and then leaned in to nibble gently on one ear tip. The bard sat up and patted his lap; his cock was still more than halfway hard. 

The elf misunderstood his intention, but eagerly straddled him anyway, sharing in a deep, passionate kiss. Jaskier hated to break it, especially when Chireadan was expecting to be fucked right now. **”Mmm. Chi…Chi that’s not…sweet Melitele I could kiss you forever…but no. No, Chi come…lay across my lap?”** After a moment of confusion, Chireadan did so, looking over his shoulder at Jaskier.

 **”I won’t do it very hard, Chi. I just want to show you that it is…well it’s…”** Jaskier grasped for the proper way to describe it, without being too crass. Maybe it was just better to show him, then. Jaskier rubbed his hand over Chireadan’s bare ass, slowly and firmly. The elf grunted softly, and Jaskier could see the way his face moved, like he was smiling. And smiling _wide_. The bard thumbed one ear point and gave a light swat to that adorably pale ass in his lap. The elf jumped with a soft groan, and then laughed softly.

 **”Oh, that…that didn’t hurt at all,”** he looked over his shoulder at Jaskier, who smiled down at him.

 **”It feels fun, doesn’t it?”** The bard lightly spanked him again, and again Chireadan moaned. He continued in the same manner until pale white cheeks turned a dusty pink beneath his hand. Jaskier slid his palm up Chireadan’s spine, tickling light patterns into his shoulders.

 **”Oh…oh you are stopping?”** he surprised Jaskier with his question. 

**”For now, dove. But…you see, that isn’t the same thing at all.”** Chireadan murmured an agreement, and slowly sat up to straddle Jaskier again. **”Mmm. I have to say…I like seeing your ass turn colors for me. But I’d like it if you did that with me sometimes. Just for fun.”**

Jaskier gripped his lover, pulling hard on his excitement as they shared a long kiss. And it was not long before Chireadan spilled into his hand, coating them both in elvish seed. His moans were high and broken as he came. The elf pressed their foreheads together, breathing hot, deep breaths against Jaskier’s face. **”There…there you…that’s…oh Chi…”** The bard _had_ to kiss him again for how incredible he looked like this. They could go for hours, back and forth, and still he’d never get tired of watching Chireadan break open for him like this. Serene and disturbed and elated and all the synonyms Jaskier could whirl through his brain at a moment’s notice. They were still never enough for how perfect Chireadan looked, at the end of his climax. 

**”I think…perhaps that is another game…we might play sometimes.”** The elf had trouble breathing, and Jaskier kissed along his shoulders until he had calmed again. 

**”I’d like that very much, Chi. Now how does a bath sound?”**  


  


* * *

  


  
It had been four days since Geralt had returned, and Jaskier had only just found himself ready to think about speaking to him again. Telling Chireadan was difficult enough, feeling the weight in his stomach that felt like his entire insides had turned to stone. But the elf was understanding, and gracious, and Jaskier could never imagine him being any other way. The pair were in Chireadan’s clinic, and Jaskier was procrastinating the inevitable. **”Won’t you come with me, Chi? I might try to punch him again.”**

Chireadan finished pouring a vial of one thing into another, their colors swirling and shifting until they settled into one final blended solution. **”If you think he deserves it, I wouldn’t stop you from doing so. But this is a conversation you must have alone. I will be right here to wait for you.”** And so he always would be, Jaskier knew. **”You are already late,”** Chireadan noted, giving Jaskier a firm, but loving, look. 

**”Yeah well…I waited two years to find any sort of resolution. He can sit and wait ten minutes for me.”** Jaskier waited until the healer had set down his potions before sliding in to embrace him. He shuddered a rough breath, burying his face in Chireadan’s neck. 

**”I know…I know,”** the elf rubbed his back, and slowly pulled away to kiss his temple. Jaskier hadn’t said a word towards his feelings, but he didn’t need to. **”It will be easier once it’s finished.”** They both knew that it could very well not be, but it warmed him to hear those words. 

Jaskier pulled away from the hug with a sigh, just staring at Chireadan for a few long, silent moments. He finally kissed the elf, and rubbed his ear affectionately, before turning to make his way to the Rusted Bolt. It was a smaller tavern in town that provided private rooms for small gatherings. Roach was tied to the horse stand outside, which Jaskier found odd. Geralt could have easily walked here. He approached the mare anyway, recognizing it as the same one they’d taken to the mountain.

 **”Hi girl,”** he rubbed Roach’s nose with a light smile. The horse bowed her head and bumped him, snorting softly. **”Yeah I’ve missed you too. Not your fault Geralt’s such an arse.”** Jaskier was stalling again. Chireadan wasn’t all that far away, and they both had many friends in this town. So why did he feel so small and alone, stepping into the tavern? Talmin, the owner, waved him over with a worried look.

 **”That witcher, he…he looks like trouble, Jask. Sure you’ll be alright?”**

**”I’m pretty sure, Tal. That’s the one I traveled around with. Sour parting. He’s trying to make it up or some bollocks.”** Talmin shrugged and pat Jaskier on the shoulder with a grunt of good luck. The bard steeled himself and headed for the back room, where he knew Geralt was waiting.

 **”Jaskier,”** he actually stood from his seat, shifting uncomfortably. Good. Jaskier wanted him to be uncomfortable and awkward. 

**”Well I’m here, so…say what you’ve got to say, Geralt.”** It still hurt to look at him. He knew that Geralt had barely aged, but the witcher somehow looked tired and worn. Had this been a few years ago, Jaskier would have worried over him, found out what was wrong, and then done what he could to mend it. He hated that Geralt had soured those memories with his careless, stupid actions and words. 

**”I’m…I’m sorry, Jaskier.”** When it was clear that Jaskier had no intention of taking a seat, Geralt sat down again, slowly wringing his hands.

 **”What are you sorry for?”** Jaskier frowned at him, and found that he didn’t care if it took hours to get Geralt to finally admit to his cowardice. While the witcher stewed in uncomfortable silence, Jaskier poured himself an ale. Good thinking, Tal, he was going to need a drink or two to get through this.

 **”For what I said. And did.”** Jaskier glared at the witcher, almost walking out then and there. Geralt seemed to sense that, hurrying his next words more than usual. **”It wasn’t right to have kept my feelings from you for so long. And then only shown them after someone else threatened to catch your eye.”** Well…that was something, at least. Jaskier would have to make note of that, and tell Chireadan that Geralt had been _jealous_ of him. How the witcher must have squirmed now, seeing the pair together.

 **”And?”** Jaskier finally took a chair. The furthest one from where Geralt sat, of course. He didn’t want the witcher getting any ideas of fondness.

Geralt sighed, rubbing over his face. He hated this, talking about his feelings, and Jaskier was going to milk every awkward moment he could. **”When Yennefer returned, I should have told you how I felt. Rather than go to her and ignore you.”**

 **”Oh I think you communicated how you felt about her pretty damn clearly.”** Geralt frowned at that, but nodded. Jaskier wasn’t stupid, he just hated being mistreated. The bard took a large gulp of ale, wiping the drips from his beard. **”So is that all, Geralt? All you’re sorry for?”** The pain inside had turned into a dull ember, threatening to spark up into a roaring fire.

**”No.”**

Jaskier waited, and then waved expectantly. Some apology, if he had to pull every other statement out of the witcher by force. Was this even worth his time?

 **”I hated myself as soon as I said…what I said that day. But I couldn’t turn and tell you, I…fuck.”** Jaskier was caught off guard; Geralt was wiping his eyes as though he had begun to cry. But that couldn’t be right. Witchers didn’t cry. With a deep breath, he continued. **”I convinced myself that you were better off without me. All those times I nearly got you killed, I…it was too hard. I’ve never cared for someone like that before. And it scared me.”**

Jaskier scoffed and rolled his eyes. **”Scared you. You almost had me until then, Geralt.”** But he looked less confident than his words suggested. Jaskier twisted the ale in his hands, frowning down at it. 

**”That was why I didn’t wake you, that day on the mountain. And when you left-”** Jaskier made a noise of angry protest at that, **”When I pushed you away. It was easier. Because then it wouldn’t be my doing, if something ever happened to you.”**

Jaskier was silent for a long moment, and set his flagon down, leaning over his knees. **”Do you _know_ how long I waited at the mountain’s base for you, Geralt?”** Fuck. He was going to cry, and there was nowhere to run to. 

**”I saw the braids…I had an idea of it.”**

The bard kept looking down as he felt his tears begin to fall. **”You broke my heart. You…it wasn’t just broken. I was destroyed. For weeks I couldn’t even sing.”** He chanced a look up, seeing that Geralt was looking just as miserable as him. Good. **”No one has ever hurt me like that before, Geralt. I thought it was just the price of loving a witcher, you know? Witchers aren’t meant to feel anything. And I’d made peace with that, until you showed me hope. Hope that you tore up right in front of me.”**

**”Jaskier…I’m-”**

**”You could apologize a thousand times and it won’t undo it. Why was it you…your solution to everything was to _leave_ me? Every fight or disagreement or…fuck, Geralt, even when you came back here and didn’t like the song I sang specifically to shame you. You run. Every gods-damned time.”**

Geralt stared at him for the longest time, but Jaskier wouldn’t back down on his own glare. Well, it was less of a glare and more of a hurt, uncomfortable staring. And he was still crying, but Jaskier wasn’t going to hide it now.

 **”Nobody encouraged me to speak as much as you did. I…I still don’t know how to express what I feel. Often. Hmm.”** The witcher was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jaskier noticed that his own ale had run dry, too quickly, and he stood. That startled Geralt, who stood as well, as if to stop him from leaving.

 **”Oh calm down. I need another drink.”** Jaskier wiped off his face and took the time to pour his new drink. Which promptly sloshed on him as he turned, caught off guard by the witcher, now standing far too close to him. He forgot how silently Geralt could move, despite his size.

 **”Are you happy here?”** Geralt’s voice was soft, and his eyes were so gentle. Jaskier forgot how he could get lost in their color sometimes.

 **”I am,”** his voice felt rough, barely a whisper. Geralt reached for him, and Jaskier batted the hand away, anger slowly building in his stomach. 

**”Jaskier…does he hit you?”** The bard’s eyes flared, and the fire in his belly roared to life. Geralt could not have taken a lower blow than that. He threw the ale in Geralt’s face, shoving away from him.

 **”He’s hit me exactly _once_ , Geralt. And I suppose you…it…he did it because I was acting like _you_. Oh I might have enjoyed the first time you fucked me, but I…I was terrified, too. You just _took_ and didn’t care if I was uncomfortable or not ready. You had me because you finally decided you wanted me all to yourself.”** Jaskier stormed away from him, crossing his arms and facing the window. He couldn’t look at Geralt right now, not after he just pulled that. Chireadan must have told the witcher about it, in their brief talk the other day. 

**”You were uncomfortable?”** Geralt sounded genuinely surprised, but Jaskier still didn’t turn to look at him. 

**”Yes.”** Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, grunting angrily. **”You _knew_ the whole time…you knew how I felt. And you took advantage of that. Of course I wasn’t going to turn it down, not when I’d…I had wanted you for so long, Geralt. It should have been different circumstances. It wasn’t fair, that it took Chireadan showing blatant interest in me, for you to want me back.”**

**”I had no idea,”** his voice was closer, and Jaskier jumped when a large hand gently gripped his shoulder. **”Jaskier…I treated you terribly. That was…normal, for me. But it shouldn’t have been.”** The bard didn’t fight it, when Geralt pulled him into a hard, warm hug. The witcher had tried to dry off his face and armor, but the stink of ale was still in his hair. Jaskier sniffled, tears rolling down into his beard, and he held Geralt hard, as if he was trying to squeeze the breath from him. 

Geralt pulled back, running a gloved hand softly over Jaskier’s beard. Golden eyes stared at it, like he’d never seen a beard before. Without warning, those lips were on his, and Jaskier felt weak. He whimpered a sob against Geralt, and found himself kissing the witcher back, if only for a moment. Geralt cupped his jaw and stroked through his beard, and gods did it make him ache in ways he could never relieve. Jaskier ripped himself out of Geralt’s arms, his bottom lip quivering.

 **”You…you can’t do that. Don’t do that to me, Geralt. That…gods that wasn’t…that’s not right!”** Jaskier felt a pain in his gut, far different from the pain Geralt had put there initially. Now the witcher had made him betray the love of his life, and Jaskier felt the world spinning around him. Chireadan had done nothing wrong, and Geralt had done _everything_ wrong.

 **”Just…just go. Please go. I…I can’t…”** Jaskier rushed out of the room, before Geralt could tempt him into worse. He had to tell the elf immediately. He owed Chireadan that much. Talmin didn’t stop him, thankfully, but Jaskier caught the many worried looks cast his way as he ran from the Rusted Bolt. Fucking witchers. Naught but trouble and heartache.


	4. Smell the Smoke of Hell

Jaskier had stumbled back into the apothecary with a stunned expression, keeping himself upright on the door frame. Chireadan had apparently been expecting that, based on the kettle that was close to boiling and the soothing tone in his voice as he guided Jaskier to a comfortable chair. The bard was shaking his head, muttering under his breath and trying to figure _how_ Geralt had thought it a good idea. What was the matter with him? And what was worse, than the fact that he enjoyed the kiss? Even a little bit. 

**“It did not go well,”** Chireadan frowned slightly, stroking through Jaskier’s hair. The bard pulled him close, suddenly, hugging him as tight as he could manage. The elf did not fight it, even as the kettle began to scream its readiness. **“I have made an herbal tea. Dandelion root and rose petal. Yes?”** Jaskier nodded silently, his arms slipping off Chireadan’s shoulders as the healer stood to pour a cup. He felt numb and on fire, and gods was he mad at that witcher! 

**“Do you wish to tell me?”** Chireadan’s voice was so soft and gentle as he eased the warm cup into Jaskier’s hands. The bard inhaled the warm air with a sigh, and then drank two small sips of it. He leaned back into the chair with a sigh, and Chireadan took that moment to stand behind him, massaging his temples and shoulders. 

Jaskier tipped his head back on the chair and looked up at his elf. His perfect, adoring, full of love elf. And tears sprang to his eyes, hot with guilt. **”He kissed me, love,”** his voice surprised even him in how low the whisper was. Jaskier could barely hear himself. Chireadan’s ear tips twitched as he tried to hear what the bard had said.

**“What was that?”** he cautiously asked. The healer was always so careful not to push Jaskier, instead letting him take the lead.

**”He kissed me.”** Jaskier’s throat felt raw and itchy, and he looked down into his teacup as he finally spoke the words aloud. 

Chireadan’s hands had grown unsettlingly still on his shoulders, resting there as though he had fallen asleep. **“Chi? Chi please say something.”** Jaskier had never known him to be so quiet, even when he was upset by something. It was new, and he wasn’t sure he should have told him what had happened. 

**“Why did he do this?”** Chireadan’s voice had lost its melody, sounding cold and full of quiet fury. It was a new, unfamiliar tone that made the hair on Jaskier’s neck prickle up. The bard sipped his tea, and then slowly turned to look up at Chireadan. He had been expecting a look of pain, or grief, or some sadness on the elf’s face. Instead, he was met with a rage he had never seen before, though it wasn’t directed towards him. Chireadan wasn’t even _looking_ at him, but rather out the window. His nostrils flared and his jaw clenched.

**“I don’t know, Chi…”** Jaskier’s voice was soft and measured. He reached up to gently hold Chireadan’s hand, startling the elf. The healer’s expression softened when he looked down, and one hand stroked gently through his hair. **“I told him how I’d felt…the first time. And he…well he didn’t exactly apologize. He said it shouldn’t have happened…then he hugged me, and next thing I knew…”** Jaskier’s voice fell and he shook his head, finding comfort in his tea.

Chireadan came back to kneel before him, stroking Jaskier’s face with his sad smile. **“He did not apologize? Jaskier…I shouldn’t have pushed this matter.”** Jaskier leaned into the touch, and pulled Chireadan up for a kiss; it was the sweetest and most tender they had shared in a while. **“Please stay here.”** The elf stood and fetched his jacket. He made sure Jaskier had a full cup of tea, before going to the door.

The bard set his cup aside, quickly following Chireadan to the door. Jaskier put his hand on it, shaking his head. **“Chi, you shouldn’t. You don’t have to.”**

**“He has disrespected you, again. I must. I _told_ him, and he still…”** The healer frowned, but waited for Jaskier to move his hand before opening the door. Jaskier followed, making Chireadan sigh. **“I can’t convince you to stay here, can I?”**

**“Absolutely bloody not.”**

Jaskier followed Chireadan, commenting on the dinner he’d like to share with the elf, entwining their arms together. He reached up to thumb Chireadan’s ear tip, earning him a shy smile for it. Jaskier leaned in to kiss said ear, slowing their walk bit by bit, as much as he could. 

**“Jaskier…”** Chireadan rubbed the hand on his arm affectionately, giving the bard a look.

**“What?”**

**“You’re trying to stall. I know it may be difficult, but it is better to do sooner.”**

Jaskier sighed, leaning his head on the elf’s shoulder as they walked at a normal pace again. Chireadan was right, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. **“I just…I don’t want things to go _bad_ ,”** he confessed, squeezing the healer’s arm. It wasn’t that Chireadan was weak. He was quite strong, actually, and it always caught Jaskier off guard. But he had been nearly killed by three regular men, and Geralt’s strength was far greater than those men combined. If things went sour, it could be…well, very bad. Jaskier didn’t want to think about it. 

**“I will be careful. And you make me strong, Jask.”** He cupped the bard’s jaw, kissing his temple sweetly. Roach was still outside the tavern when they approached, and Jaskier was nervous for that fact. For some reason, he felt like a schoolboy who’d just been bullied, and was being dragged back to the scene by his mother. It was odd, and he really didn’t know what was about to happen in here. He’d never seen Chireadan look so fiercely _angry_ before. Not like that. 

Talmin eyed the pair worryingly as they walked in. **“Everything alright?”** he anxiously asked. Jaskier shrugged pathetically, then realized Chireadan was waiting for him to lead the way to Geralt. Fuck. Jaskier ran a hand through his hair, finding the elf’s right there to hold it after the nervous gesture. 

**“We’ll be fine, Tal. And hopefully out of here in just two shakes.”** He tried to give the innkeeper one of his winning smiles, but he could just feel how wrong it was. Jaskier led Chireadan to the room, surprised to see Geralt just sitting there, staring with a frown at the fireplace. The bard knew he could hear them approach and enter the tavern, so why put on this act? 

**“Chireadan,”** the witcher grunted, though his gaze remained locked in place. Jaskier was confused, but he would just let this unfold however it had to. The elf gently unfurled his fingers from Jaskier’s, which were extremely reluctant to let go. He gave the bard a gentle look, getting a barely-there nod in return. 

**“Geralt.”** The healer took a chair on the opposite side of the table, and only then did the witcher look up at him. His amber eyes slid to Jaskier for a moment, before Chireadan cleared his throat, claiming Geralt’s attention again. **“I understand this is a very…delicate situation between you two, and I-”**

**“Needn’t involve yourself, elf,”** Geralt gruffly answered.

Chireadan continued as though Geralt had not attempted to finish the sentence for him. **“And I do not like to intrude in matters where I am not concerned. But you have a man with love and affection in his heart, over-brimming, and trying to show you his pain. Why must you bring him more?”** Jaskier had worked his way over to stand behind Chireadan, steeling himself with a hand on the elf’s shoulder. The look on Geralt’s face was hard to read, and unfamiliar. It almost looked like a look of shame, if the witcher could even _feel_ such a thing. Jaskier wondered what it was, then, that Geralt was trying to express. 

**“I…don’t know how to explain when I…hmm. When I feel. Things.”**

**“Well no shit,”** Jaskier scoffed, rolling his eyes. Chireadan reached for his hand, squeezing it gently. Fine, he would keep his angry comments to himself. At least he was just _angry_ now and not mortified on top of it.

**“Geralt. I am a healer of the body. I can only do so much, Jaskier knows this. I love him.”** The words seemed to cut Geralt with an invisible blade, making him flinch ever so slightly. Jaskier couldn’t believe he still recognized the look. **“And this is something that has hurt him very much. For a long time. You did not see the pain it caused him, and I pray you never do see it. This is a thing that cannot be undone unless you speak honestly to him. To us.”**

Chireadan reached for Geralt’s wrist, and the witcher pulled back as though he’d brandished a hot iron. With a soft grunt, he took Geralt’s hand firmly in his, staring him down. 

**“This would be easier if you just punched me or something,”** Geralt grumbled, avoiding eye contact with either of them. **“I just kissed your man, after all.”**

Chireadan shook his head, and Jaskier found himself wondering if his patience was unrelenting, actually. It was his strongest virtue, and perhaps why he was such an accomplished healer. **“You did. But Jaskier is his own man. He does not belong to me. I’m not the one you must apologize to, Geralt.”** The bard sank into the seat beside Chireadan, holding his free hand. He had to hold _something_ or he might end up doing something rash. And the elf knew, he suspected, because that hand gripped his back tightly; just enough to ground and center him.

When Geralt looked at him, Jaskier’s breath fled his body, and he jaw tightened. The hand holding his went to his thigh instead, as though Chireadan knew he was about to fly out of that seat and give Geralt what he wanted. A fist slammed straight into his cheekbone. Likely Jaskier would break his hand before he’d ever hurt Geralt, but it would make him feel better. 

**“I’m sorry, Jaskier.”** Angry tears sprang to the bard’s eyes, and his lip quivered as he tried to ask _what_ exactly he was sorry for. **“I took advantage of you. And I knew it.”** Jaskier broke the gaze, looking at the fireplace and seeing Chireadan’s eyes searching his face. **“It wasn’t right. I…that wasn’t how I hoped things would start between us.”**

**“Did it end how you hoped?”** Jaskier’s voice was quiet. Chireadan pressed a warm kiss to his forehead, and with his eyes shut the bard missed Geralt’s pained expression at the gesture. 

**“No,”** his voice was strangled, and Jaskier could have sworn he heard the ghost of emotion in there. **“I turned my anger on you. And you were right. It wasn’t fair. You…hmm. You never…did anything.”**

**“I did fucking _plenty_ ,”** Jaskier’s voice was filled with venom as he shot Geralt a glare that actually made the witcher cringe back a little.

**“That’s not what I mean.”** Geralt leaned forward again, frowning at the hand Chireadan kept extended for him. With a reluctant sigh, he put his hand back in place, though he looked highly uncomfortable for it. Chireadan nodded. **“You never did anything to deserve what I said. And Yennefer…I…fuck.”** Geralt’s brow furrowed and he looked down in shame. Actual _shame_. Jaskier shared a short look with Chireadan, and rubbed both hands over his face. 

**“I wasn’t _mad_ that you slept with Yennefer again, Geralt,”** he sighed. Geralt looked up, confused, and even glanced at Chireadan. The elf could offer little more than a shrug, as he wouldn’t speak for Jaskier. Encourage and prompt, yes, but that was as far as he went. **“I was upset that you abandoned me to do it. Geralt you would barely even _touch_ me after we saw her again. And you were completely fucking oblivious to what that was doing to me.”**

Geralt looked even more uncomfortable, rubbing over his hair and making noncommittal grunts. **“I…wasn’t oblivious.”** Jaskier was seeing red, and he leapt from his seat to slap Geralt, before Chireadan coaxed him back down, gently holding his shoulders. 

**“Love, that…that won’t help. I know you are angry,”** the elf spoke soothing words made of music, but Jaskier stared at Geralt with a tense jaw and dull, hard eyes.

**“I deserved that,”** Geralt grunted.

**“And more,”** Jaskier spat.

Geralt grunted in agreement, his arms crossed in front of him. **“I thought it would be easier, if you hated me. If you hated me, you would leave. And I wouldn’t have to worry for your life to be in my hands anymore. It scared me, Jaskier.”** Those words felt like a slap themselves, pulling the bard out of his anger. He had said the same thing before, and Jaskier was almost beginning to believe it. **“Yennefer is…was…there’s a bond between us that is not natural. And I can’t do a thing about it. But I should have spoken it through, with you.”** It would have been the least he could offer Jaskier, at any rate. That’s all the bard had wanted, communication. It only took a decade or so and forging his own damn life to finally get it.

**“Why was it normal for you, Geralt?”** The witcher grunted and twisted his eyebrows in a way that Jaskier knew meant _confusion_. **“You said the way you treated me was _normal_ to you. Why?”**

Chireadan had that face on again, the stern, quiet anger. Ah, right, he hadn’t told the healer _that_ bit. He absolutely should have, though. But to be quite fair, he _was_ a bit upset, and it had only just happened. Less than an hour ago. If he’d gone and thought through it all himself, he could have given a more detailed report to Chireadan. Alas. 

**“I was just a boy when Vesemir took me in. You…you’re not the first man I’ve had, Jaskier.”** That was actually a surprise to the bard, who had never known Geralt to show interest in another man until the night he’d roughly had his way. **“Witchers tend to rely on the senses. I…hmm.”** Chireadan reassuringly squeezed his hand, and Geralt’s eyes narrowed in confusion at the gesture. **“I learned that…if you smelled lust, it was enough. And every other time, it…”** His deep voice trailed off as he visibly began to wonder if it actually _had_ been no issue every other time.

Jaskier found himself wondering what it must be like, to be slapped in the face, both literally and figuratively, with the knowledge that the way something had always been done was entirely _not correct_. It was sad, he found himself thinking. Nobody had ever thought to tell him that he was wrong. Had they all been too terrified? Jaskier certainly had been, despite having traveled with Geralt for _years_. Gods, he knew Geralt better than anyone on the continent, he was certain, and yet he’d been too scared to say no. Another thought twisted in his gut, and Jaskier put a hand over his stomach, frowning at the sensation. How many times had Geralt assumed he was ok with a sexual encounter, because of his own physical reaction? It made Jaskier sick to think of it, and he suddenly found that he understood the witcher more than he thought he had.

Geralt’s grunt brought him back to the present. The witcher slipped his hand out of Chireadan’s, and he crossed them in front of himself again, uncomfortable. **“I could still smell your fear. That day.”** He wouldn’t look Jaskier in the eye, and it was good he didn’t. Jaskier wasn’t sure he could handle it, if Geralt looked at him while it felt like a thousand rocks were pressed down on his chest. **“But I thought _that_ was normal. You said no, when I wanted to keep going. And then I stopped.”** Jaskier nodded silently, but just because Geralt was having a self-reflective moment, it didn’t mean he had to forgive the man. 

The silence was palpable for a while, and Geralt turned to look at the fireplace again, with a grunt. Jaskier could have sworn he saw the gleam of tears in the witcher’s eyes, but it had to be a trick of the light. Never, in all the time he had known Geralt, had he once seen the witcher cry. He thought it was impossible, honestly. They must have cut those instincts out, as surely as they cut the rest of his emotions. 

**“And I owe you an apology, Chireadan,”** he finally grumbled, glancing at the elf, who was taken aback. 

**“No, I have told you already, Jaskier-”**

**“Not for that,”** Geralt interrupted. Chireadan fell silent, and frowned as understanding crossed his features. **“I really am an arse, aren’t I.”**

The elf cleared his throat, and his jaw tensed. Jaskier hadn’t seen him this skittish in such a long time, he’d almost forgotten what it looked like. **“I…that was many years ago. It is so long ago and…and it was not as though…”** It was Jaskier’s turn to put a comforting hand on his lover’s shoulder, and a kiss on his cheek. Chireadan’s face was wound up like he was trying to contain his emotions.

**“Chi?”** Jaskier spoke softly, rubbing his thumb over the elf’s ear. Gods, this day was an absolute disaster, wasn’t it?

**“You showed me that it was not worth loving one who would never love me in return,”** he gulped down a breath of air, looking at the ceiling. **“But…but yes. It did hurt. And Jaskier…he…he was there for me. In ways I didn’t know I needed.”** Jaskier hugged him, feeling the warm drops of tears on his shoulder. Fuck. 

**“It’s alright. You have me, Chi. I’m here.”** The elf shuddered silently, perhaps because he hadn’t realized that he, too, needed closure on something he thought was long since resolved. It wasn’t often that something caught him in such a way that he responded emotionally. But it was a sore wound, one that Jaskier could not heal…the way Chireadan insisted he couldn’t heal the bard’s fully. Gods. Now he understood. 

They all sat in silence again, and Jaskier had no idea what to do next. Finally, the elf pulled up from his shoulder, giving him a gentle kiss and stroking through his hair. He sighed and turned to Geralt, who was watching the pair with an unreadable expression on his face. **“Geralt.”** Amber eyes snapped immediately to forest green, and Chireadan held the witcher’s full attention. **“You should have dinner with us tonight.”**

**“What?”** Geralt and Jaskier both asked incredulously at the same time. Chireadan was caught off guard by both reactions, it seemed.

**“There…there’s more to speak of, is there not?”** Chireadan sounded as though he was unsure, like perhaps he had misread the room. The bard and the witcher shared a look, and then shrugged. **“Talmin, the innkeeper…he knows where we live. He will tell you where to go. Just past sundown, then?”** Geralt nodded, his brow knitted together in some kind of thoughtful expression. Jaskier stood first, waiting for the healer. Chireadan reached forward to squeeze Geralt’s hand with a confirming nod. Geralt returned it after a long beat. Chireadan stood, holding Jaskier’s hand.

**“We will see you tonight. Thank you, Geralt.”** Jaskier bit his lip, holding back the thoughts he had at that moment. He could talk to Chireadan about it when they were home. _Home_. It was their sacred space, and he had invited Geralt into it. Jaskier hadn’t spoken up, and in fact had agreed to it? This was happening very quickly, and he needed to have time alone with the elf, to clarify…well, everything. 

Once they were outside and headed home, Jaskier turned to Chireadan, the question dying on his lips at the look on his lover’s face. It was confusion, hurt, expectation, love, contemplation…there was so much going on in that sweet head of his. Instead, he stopped their strides, pulling the healer in for a tender kiss. **“I love you, Chi.”**

Chireadan stroked his cheek with a gentle smile, nodding. **“And I love you, Jaskier.”** He kissed the bard tenderly, and linked their arms for the walk home. The apothecary was fine for the evening, Jaskier supposed. And if anyone did require immediate attention, they knew where to find the elf.


	5. Come Rip Up the Flesh of My Fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A twink, an otter, and a wolf sit down for dinner.

**“This is the worst idea you’ve ever had,”** Jaskier was complaining as he set their table for three, frowning at the third set. **“I was quite happy to sit there and continue slapping him, you know.”** Jaskier sighed when Chireadan pulled away from the food to press a kiss to his temple. 

**“I know this. And that is why I…Jaskier?”** The bard glanced up, seeing how nervous the elf looked in that moment. He took Chireadan’s shoulders, looking at him with concern. The healer furrowed his brow for a moment, shaking his head. **“Before he arrives, I thought perhaps…well it is…admittedly not the best of ideas.”**

Jaskier laughed softly, wondering what could possibly be a worse idea than inviting Geralt to dinner. **“C’mon, everything we’ve told each other? Don’t get shy on me now, Chi,”** he thumbed the elf’s ear with a soft smile. 

The elf leaned into the touch, eyes closed and a satisfied smile on his face. **“When you and I first made love…outside the fort?”** Jaskier wasn’t sure where he was going with this, but nodded, wrapping one arm around Chireadan’s waist. **“It was not the act of sex, but the love you showed me in it…the passion. That was what gave me hope. And why I could give it in return, when I found you again.”**

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, trying to discern what the elf was saying to him. 

**“I think we should show Geralt that love, tonight.”**

He was silently floored for a few long moments, but somehow that didn’t deter Chireadan’s smile. **“Are…did you just suggest…what I think you suggested?”** The elf nodded, and captured his mouth in a chaste kiss, which might as well have been a sedative shot directly into his brain.

**“I…well I’m not…I won’t say no outright,”** he confessed, and somehow that was what the elf hoped to hear, his eyes sparkling with glee. Chireadan untangled himself from Jaskier’s grasp to continue his cooking. **“Let’s just see where this meal takes us. And…and we shall go from there.”** He was tempted to break out the wine early, though Chireadan would surely find a way to gently discourage him from drinking himself dumb before the witcher could even arrive.

**“Does he like duck?”** the elf pulled him out of his clouded mind, making Jaskier hum in thought, before processing what he’d been asked. 

**“Huh? Oh. Yes, he…well he likes anything that’s come from an animal.”** Chi was intentionally distracting him, and for a moment, at least, it had worked. Jaskier instead went into mindlessly humming one of his newer songs. Chireadan hummed along in harmony, having heard it a couple dozen times already. Jaskier loved it when the elf sang with him, and had even begun to give him vocal lessons. Not that he really needed it, he was a healer and not a bard after all, but they both enjoyed themselves. 

**“We can still call this off, if you’re not feeling up to it,”** Jaskier offered once, feeling even more nervous than he had before, when it was just the threat of dinner with Geralt. Chireadan’s further thoughts were intriguing, and Jaskier couldn’t deny that the idea of it was…well…enticing. But gods, was his lover doing this because he really thought it would help, or because he thought Jaskier just needed to Geralt out of his system one last time? 

Chireadan had laid out their small feast, and now took Jaskier into his arms, kissing him tenderly. **“Had I felt second thoughts arise, I would have never suggested it.”** Jaskier knew he didn’t just mean the meal. They kissed again, and it was too soon before a hesitant knock sounded at the door. He couldn’t help but wonder if Geralt had been out there long, just waiting and building up the nerve to actually accept the invitation. 

Jaskier rose his eyebrows at the elf, sharing a silent question, and receiving one last kiss as an answer. Chireadan pulled away from his arms, though the bard gently gripped his wrists one last time in question. The elf lifted both hands to his mouth and kissed his knuckles, smiling. **“Remember…if this is too much. Use our word.”**

**“Dandelions,”** Jaskier sighed with a nod. It had been a word they used seamlessly in conversation if one of them was uncomfortable with a situation. If they named the flower, then the other would find a way out of it, as soon as possible. They occasionally used it when they tried new things in the bedroom, too. Well, they _could_ use it, but neither of them ever had. 

Jaskier had busied himself with opening their wine, and stealing a sip for himself, while he half-listened to Chireadan greet Geralt at the door. It was an odd combination of noises, the melody of the elf’s voice and the rumbling timbre of the witcher’s. It was a soothing mix of tones, though they were then suddenly growing closer, and Jaskier downed the small glass he’d poured himself, steeling his nerves. He could do this, and wherever the night took them, it would be fine. The mistake was thinking of what the night could bring, right as the elf was leading Geralt to the feast. Geralt would smell it, and then he would get the absolute wrong idea. 

**“So you decided to come instead of running away this time,”** Jaskier couldn’t help himself. Even Chireadan was stifling a slight grin at that, clearing his throat as he motioned for Geralt to remove his swords. Geralt looked fittingly uncomfortable with the comment, and couldn’t meet Jaskier’s gaze as he unlatched the weapons from his back. At least he hadn’t developed an uncharacteristic need to speak endlessly, and wasn’t that one of the most ironic thoughts? **“Why did you even bring those, Geralt?”**

The witcher shrugged, handing both swords to Chireadan, who respectfully set them aside. **“In case anything happened. Don’t trust them…not with me.”** Something about the way he’d said that made Jaskier narrow his eyes in suspicion. Geralt was hiding something, and the bard hated that he could still tell, in his subtle expressions and short words. He still knew the witcher intimately, and perhaps he always would. Jaskier shook it off, pouring the wine. Chireadan was saying something, but Jaskier was, for once, not keenly paying attention to what was being said around him. Something pleasant and short, he was sure of it. 

**“Thank you,”** Geralt grumbled as he took a seat. The table wasn’t especially large, though Jaskier wished it were a banquet hall at the moment, with the witcher sat at the far end. He couldn’t be mad at Geralt forever, could he? Once, he thought that was entirely possible. Now, he wondered if it wasn’t just the pain of being pushed away so horribly that was hardening him to Geralt. 

Everything was going rather awkwardly, as Chireadan kept attempting to bridge a gap between them with gentle words, making polite and small conversation. **“Jaskier has been invited to lecture at Oxenfurt in the spring,”** he cheerily remarked, carving a piece of duck for himself, and handing the knife to Geralt, to do the same. He attempted to, anyway, but the witcher pulled one of the legs straight off, no knife required. It went to Jaskier instead, who had finally controlled the snicker that threatened to come out. Geralt would always be a bit of a barbarian, and looked extremely out of place at a dinner table in all that witcher gear. 

**“Oxenfurt?”** Geralt at least tried to make conversation. Jaskier nodded, grabbing for his wine to wash down the bit of potato he’d taken just a little too much of. A soft smile crossed the witcher’s features. **“Continuing to beat Valdo Marx then, I see.”** At that, Jaskier actually smiled. Damn that witcher, he actually _had_ been listening all those times the bard rambled on and on about anything and everything. 

Chireadan couldn’t look more pleased, even reaching to affectionately squeeze Jaskier’s knee. The bard gave him a look that clearly said _and what of it_ , which only made him smile a bit more. 

**“It would seem that pandering to the masses and writing songs people want to hear is rather lucrative, though who could have ever guessed such a thing?”**

The dinner went far more smoothly after that, and the three shared what the past years had brought for them, though Jaskier could still tell that Geralt was hiding something. He wasn’t going to press the matter, not if the witcher was still bottling up on him like this. Geralt had never been one to share his feelings, so the fact that he had opened up as much as he already had was incredible in itself. He could have this last secret, which Jaskier suspected had much to do with Yennefer. 

**“Won’t you stay for a few more drinks, Geralt?”** Chireadan invited warmly. The witcher glanced between them, and Jaskier gave a slight nod. He was fine with this, and only then did Geralt accept. 

The healer pressed a kiss to Jaskier’s temple, and the pair began to clean up. Geralt stood to assist, but the bard waved him away with a tut. **“These aren’t clay plates, Geralt, these are _nice_. And besides, you’re a guest in our home. So just…have a seat.”** The bard and the elf had a certain method to their ways, as well, and it would be faster to clean the way they knew best.

**“Do you think we ought to change out the flowers?”** Chireadan nodded at the vase that had just been filled this morning. Jaskier knew that wasn’t the question he was really asking.

**“No. No I think they’re just fine, love.”** Jaskier thumbed his pointed ear and kissed his cheek. He splashed Chireadan with a bit of water from the basin, getting a playful chastising in Elder Speech. The bard felt amber burning into their backs the entire time, but ignored whatever it was Geralt was trying to communicate through his brooding silence. Honestly, did he expect the rest of the world to be psychic? No wonder he jumped at the chance to bed the first woman he found who actually was. 

**“Would you start a fire for us?”** the healer asked, accepting the sudden and amorous kiss Jaskier placed on him. 

**“Sure. Honey wine?”**

Chireadan nodded, and jumped when Jaskier planted a playful slap to his bottom, walking to fetch the mead. Geralt was eyeing him in surprise, which just made the bard shrug. **“Ah, why don’t you come with me? I can…show you our little home.”** The elf glanced over at him with an approving smile. Ok. Fine then, he could do this. 

Jaskier handed two of the more sturdy wooden mugs to Geralt, and took down one more, bringing it with their mead. He jerked his head for the witcher to follow, and he silently did. Jaskier had forgotten how eerie it was, to know Geralt was so close by, and yet not hear a single step or breath from him. At least he occasionally grunted, to remind the bard he was still there. 

**“So…do you want to tell me why you…”** Jaskier sighed as words eluded him. Geralt didn’t press, and he didn’t particularly feel like explaining himself further, not for the moment. He showed the witcher where to find the latrine, should he need it, and gave a brief tour before settling in their comfortable drawing room. He had always liked it because of the lack of windows, oddly enough. With naught but a few candles, or a roaring fireplace, he could focus and write more songs than he knew what to do with. 

**“The first time,”** Jaskier’s voice was soft as he sat, fiddling with the seam on his trouser leg. **“You’d said you had ignored the smell of me for a long time. But if you wanted what I wanted, then…why did you never just _talk_ to me? Do you know how long I tried to figure out what you wanted? Put myself out there to see if you took the next step?”**

The witcher frowned, looking confused for a long, silent moment. Geralt stood and began to build a fire. Jaskier had honestly already forgotten, his mind was just a whirlwind of confusion. At least this was helpful, and he wasn’t going to stop Geralt from doing something he knew how to do. **“I’ve never been good at talking,”** he grunted, and Jaskier nearly told him off for repeating that fact over and over. He was well aware. **“I’m a witcher. You’re…you were young, and hopeful. Had plenty of lovers at your call. You could do better than me. But you never left. You stayed. I didn’t know you were putting yourself out there…not to me.”**

Jaskier was actually gobsmacked by that. **“Geralt I was literally rubbing ointments onto your bare arse. Do you remember when I leapt into that spring with you? Naked? Did you think I _wanted_ to be in chilly water? Gods, I didn’t realize you were dense.”** Geralt grunted angrily, but offered no alternative. Jaskier was right, he didn’t need to say it out loud. **“Yes, I practically threw myself at you, you oaf. I didn’t realize I had to actually do it to get your attention.”**

The fire was crackling to life, filling the room with warmth. Geralt looked as though he had more to say, but his quick glance to the door and sudden need to sit in the chair opposite told Jaskier that his elf was headed their way. Geralt was an absolute idiot. This entire night was Chireadan’s idea, even he should remember that. 

**“Ahh lovely. Here. This mead is from Aedirn,”** Jaskier saw Geralt’s eyes flick to him as Chireadan mentioned that kingdom, **“Not so easy to fetch, but well worth the effort.”** And of course, it was the couple’s favorite vintage to share, before a particularly amorous night. Not because it held any aphrodisiacs, but because it simply left a rather pleasant tipsy feeling, instead of the dry and headachy feeling one got from too much rich wine. And yes, Jaskier had been finding more and more recently, that too much wine was indeed a thing that could be quantified.

Chireadan settled into the arm of the couch once he had poured mead for them all, and Jaskier settled into his usual position against the elf. The silence wasn’t perfectly comfortable, nor was it abrasively awkward. There was a tension hung in the air between them all, the unspoken question that Geralt probably didn’t even realize was waiting to be asked. The bard glanced up at his healer, raising his eyebrows and hiding the expression behind a drink of his mead. Chireadan teased fingertips through his hair, and nodded. 

**“Geralt, get over here.”** The witcher grunted, his eyebrows knitting together. **“Look you don’t have to if you don’t want, but it’s an open invitation. Just to cuddle. For now.”** Jaskier wondered what he might smell, if he had witcher abilities. As though entranced, and for the first time Jaskier could ever remember, nervous of expression, Geralt stood. For a few long moments he just stood, eyeing the two of them as though they were something untouchable, breakable. Finally he ambled over, looking stiff and uncomfortable as he sat beside Jaskier. 

**“You’re probably best getting that armor off,”** Jaskier suggested, grabbing for Geralt’s mug, like it was nothing, like his hand didn’t spark like a bolt of lightning when his skin brushed the witcher’s. At least Geralt complied, and that would make the rest of the night easier. Except after he’d shed his witcher armor, he just sat there. Like a pathetic lump. **“Melitele’s tits, Geralt, just relax already. I can’t tell if you don’t want to be here or just afraid I’ll fall apart if you touch me.”**

Jaskier grabbed Geralt’s shoulder with a sigh, tugging him to lay against the bard. They had cuddled one another plenty of times, even before they’d even fucked, but it seemed now Geralt wouldn’t do a thing unless he was sure Jaskier wanted it. Which was a step. A big one. The witcher was tense as he leaned back, and then shifted, letting his head come to rest in Jaskier’s lap. It was honestly not awkward a position at all, once he had finally let go and _settled_. Just like Chireadan did to him, Jaskier let his fingers slip into that grey hair, scraping through it. 

The fire crackled, and they drank their mead in silence otherwise. Geralt a slight bit more awkwardly, given the position, but at least he’d let the tension fall from his shoulders. He looked actually peaceful, lying there in Jaskier’s lap. The bard teased the tie out of his hair, mostly to make it easier to stroke through. The witcher in his lap grunted softly, sending a rumble through his entire body. Chireadan kissed his ear, and Jaskier found himself surrounding by a feeling that was wholly unfamiliar. A little scary, if he was to be honest. He didn’t want one, or the other. Obviously yes, but not in the sense of having to choose. 

In fact, he found that he would rather not choose at all.


	6. Your Eyes Aren't Rivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chireadan encourages Jaskier to have his cake and eat it too.

Jaskier had been sure that Geralt was going to fall asleep right there in his lap, and he didn’t know what to do about it. Chireadan had slipped his hand under Jaskier’s, taking over in stroking through that silver hair. It seemed like Geralt didn’t even notice the change. Jaskier leaned back on the sofa, running his hands through his own hair and looking at the elf, who was captivated in stroking through Geralt’s hair. A few hours ago he was furious with the witcher. His heart really did not have a limit to the love he could give. 

Chireadan caught him off guard with a slow, passionate kiss. The kind of kiss that left his lungs, and his body, aching for more. Geralt grunted softly, but Jaskier held his shoulder as he shared the kiss with his lover. The witcher slid out from beneath their hands, sitting awkwardly beside the bard again. He looked at them with a frown on his face, and then stared into the fire. 

**“I’ll leave you both to it,”** he grumbled, moving as though to stand. Jaskier grabbed his wrist, and Geralt looked down at the touch in surprise. 

**“We’d like it if you stayed. If you wanted, that is.”** Jaskier doubted that anyone could ever make Geralt do something he didn’t want to do. Chireadan pressed a soft kiss to his neck, making the bard’s eyelids flutter. 

**“But you’re about to-”**

**“It would honor us both, if you chose to experience this with us,”** Chireadan gently interrupted him. 

Geralt let Jaskier pull him back down to sit, frowning as though he didn’t understand. And maybe they would have to explain it to him, with more than words. Jaskier tucked Geralt’s hair behind his ear, and this time he was the one to initiate a kiss. Chireadan had reached around him to begin unfastening Geralt’s top. The witcher’s hands were gentle, so very gentle and easy with Jaskier, and he even felt one going to stroke through the elf’s hair as well. **“You’re both…?”** Geralt pulled away to ask, as though he didn’t quite believe that this is what they wanted from him.

Jaskier pulled his chin down, staring into those golden-amber eyes. Before he could answer, Chireadan was leaning over his shoulder, pressing his lips to Geralt’s. **“Yes, we both desire this, witcher,”** the elf answered, **“If you would have us, as well.”** Geralt was stunned for a long moment, but then brought Chi’s face back to his, fixing him with a filthy kiss. Jaskier knew how it _felt_ , but gods, he’d never known what it _looked_ like. His cock twitched to life, and he was spoiled for choice, switching from kissing one neck to the other. 

Geralt grunted, placing his hands on both their heads and pulling back to look between them. **“There is…Jaskier. You always asked one thing of me, that I never…hmm. I was selfish and kept you from taking me, how I took you.”** Jaskier’s heart jumped, and he stared at Geralt. Wide eyed, at first, but then his brow furrowed.

**“Are you saying you want to give that to me now?”** It was going to be like pulling teeth, if the witcher continued to refuse to use his words. But at least Geralt nodded, and Jaskier wondered if perhaps he had always wanted that, but never worked up the courage to actually ask, or allow it. For whatever ridiculous reason had led to him sending Jaskier away, too. The bard shook that thought out of his head; it had no place here. 

**“Well come on then,”** he disentangled himself from the sets of arms around him, pulling Geralt up by the hands, leading him to the fireplace. **“Chi, I’m going to set up in here. Would you get the uh…”**

**“The oil I made?”** the elf happily supplied the answer. He gave them both a gentle kiss, leaving the room to fetch the oil that sat at their bedside. Jaskier set down furs and pillows, to make the floor comfortable for them. Geralt gave him an odd look. 

**“What? You think I want to fuck on a rough stone floor? I thought you knew me better than that,”** Jaskier playfully swatted Geralt’s arm. He was quickly pulled into a passionate kiss, and this time it felt like Geralt was making up for all the time that had passed where he wasn’t doing just exactly that.

**“Hey…hey stop…trying to distract me,”** Jaskier laughed softly, leaning in to kiss him again. Gods, he would be a terrible liar if he claimed that he hadn’t missed this still. Jaskier finally pulled back, finishing the work Chireadan had begun, undoing all those ties and buttons on Geralt’s clothing. The witcher helped, and soon stood naked and erect before Jaskier.

He’d seen Geralt in the nude before, more times than he could recall. He’d even had that cock inside him, and still it didn’t prepare him for the vulnerability on Geralt’s face, the softness that rested on such sharp features. Jaskier helped him down to the floor, and the witcher initially laid out on his stomach. The bard laughed, gently tapping his hip.

**“Could you turn over? I like to watch my lover’s faces,”** he was beaming. Chireadan came back then, kneeling by Jaskier as Geralt flipped onto his back. 

**“Oh…”** Chireadan gasped softly, running his palm over the witcher’s chest. He didn’t stop at any scar, rather worshipping the whole man before him. **“May I?”** His hand had stopped to rest just shy of Geralt’s cock. Had no one asked if they could touch before simply grabbing at him? The look on his face seemed to suggest so. He nodded, though, and Chi coated his palm in oil before pulling on him. Jaskier watched intently, fascinated to see how Geralt responded. And it seemed as though he were on fire inside, for how he grunted and writhed. 

**“I’ve never seen him like this,”** Jaskier’s voice was gruff and dripping in lust. Chireadan kissed him, letting go of Geralt to undress the bard. Geralt actually _whined_ , and that just made Jaskier laugh breathily. He looked down at the witcher, running his hand over Geralt’s thigh. **“Geralt have you ever been taken care of before? Don’t worry…we’re both a bit greedy.”** Chireadan blushed slightly at that, and that only made Jaskier grin wider. 

The elf helped Jaskier undress fully, and poured a helping of oil into his palm. Geralt was surprisingly helpful, immediately lifting his hips so Jaskier could prepare him more easily. The bard wasn’t expecting just _how_ tight Geralt was, when his finger sank in. Jaskier moaned, slowly and steadily working Geralt open. Chireadan kissed his shoulder, and slid around to Geralt’s head. He lifted it, and settled the witcher back into his lap, smiling down at him. There was something so intimate and special in that moment, and Jaskier could have watched the way Geralt stared up at Chireadan.

**“Geralt,”** Jaskier found his voice sticking in his throat, but the witcher’s attention was on him. That stare still shook him to his core, gripped him in a vice. **“Are you ready?”** Geralt nodded, and Jaskier coated his cock in oil, lining up. It wasn’t all that easy at the start, though once he worked the tip in, the rest of his length sank into Geralt easily. **“Fuck. Geralt…that is…I…”**

**“Are you going to fuck me or compose a sonnet to my arse?”** he smirked, intentionally goading Jaskier. Even Chireadan laughed at that, but stroked Jaskier’s chin affectionately.

**“Well fine then, Mr. Impatient,”** he braced himself, palms flat on the ground, and grunted as he began to thrust into Geralt. It took a few short strokes to really get used to how tight the witcher was, and Jaskier would swear nobody had ever taken him before, but then he found himself in a sensual, fluid motion. He reached between them, grabbing at Geralt’s cock and stroking in pace with his hips. Chireadan lifted his chin, and the pair kissed, Jaskier’s moans pouring between the elf’s lips like honey.

Geralt’s legs twitched, but his feet remained planted on the ground, and Jaskier could hear the grunts that attempted to hide his moans. **“Hey,”** he broke from the kiss with Chi to look down at Geralt, **“It’s alright. You can let go. Just enjoy it. I want you to feel good.”** Jaskier leaned in to pull a kiss from him, and that drew out a long, shaking moan.

Chireadan stroked through his hair, and the bard perversely wondered if Geralt could feel the erection grown behind his head. If he could smell it, or if he was too over stimulated to even process that just yet. **“He’s very good, isn’t he?”** Chireadan smiled, smoothing through Jaskier’s hair. **“I think he’s learned a lot today. And taken that into practice.”**

**“Oh I would certainly say so,”** Jaskier’s hips worked faster, and Geralt grabbed his shoulder, eyebrows knit at the center. His other arm reached back, grabbing at Chireadan’s shirt. His eyes slid shut and his jaw grew tight, and he looked like he was in pain. The witcher’s next moan was strangled, and he turned his head into the elf’s thigh. Jaskier could feel how his hand shook, where it clung to him.

Jaskier immediately stopped, gently cupping his jaw. **“Geralt? Geralt what’s wrong. Does that feel bad? Talk to me. What happened?”**

Chireadan looked concerned too, especially when Geralt’s eyes opened and unleashed tears. **“What do you need, Geralt?”** the elf softly asked, stroking his cheek.

**“I’m fine,”** he stubbornly answered. Jaskier and Chi shared a look. The bard pulled himself out of Geralt, and knelt by his side, peppering his chest with kisses. 

**“You’re not fine. I’ve never seen you cry, and I’d rather not have the first time be when I’m inside you,”** he lightly joked. Geralt stroked his arm with the back of his hand. He sighed and looked up at Chireadan. 

**“Nothing felt bad. It felt good. Too good. That…I don’t know how to feel…what you’re both making me feel.”** Geralt frowned, and Jaskier would have sworn he even looked embarrassed. 

**“Our chambers?”** Chireadan practically read his mind, and Jaskier nodded. They helped Geralt up, though the witcher tried to dress himself, intent on leaving. 

**“Don’t you dare touch a thing,”** Jaskier took the trousers out of his hands. **“The night’s barely started, so just get to following Chi. I’ll be up with these. And more wine.”**

He needed time to calm himself too, after seeing Geralt so openly vulnerable for him like that. He listened to Chireadan’s melodic voice, carrying up the stairs to their room, talking about…well, Jaskier actually wasn’t paying attention to the content so much as he was the tone of Chi’s voice. He downed the wine from all three goblets, and fetched a bottle of his favorite vintage, bringing all of it upstairs. 

Chireadan was down to his trousers when he arrived, Geralt laid out on their bed. He helped Jaskier with setting the clothes and wine to a side. **“The 1272?”** he smiled, looking at the bottle. **“Perfect. I thought perhaps Geralt might feel more comfortable if we were all naked?”** Chireadan looked down at himself, as though seeing if Jaskier agreed with his assessment. 

**“Can’t hurt to try,”** the bard grinned, tugging the elf closer to him by the waistband. Jaskier kissed him while unlacing his trousers, shoving them down and grabbing at his stiffened cock. Geralt had sat up on his elbows, watching the pair hungrily. Jaskier grinned at the witcher, and then looked down at Chireadan’s cock. It was already leaking for him, and the bard fell to his knees, hungry for the taste of his lover. The elf moaned, gently grabbing onto Jaskier’s hair. The bard licked and sucked and pulled, knowing Chireadan’s body well enough to know when to pull back, letting him settle back from the edge of orgasm. 

Geralt grunted, and the pair looked to see him fisting his own cock, intensely aroused by the sight before him. **“Why don’t you get me ready,”** Jaskier stood to whisper in Chi’s ear. He knew Geralt would hear it anyway, but there was something erotic in even that. Jaskier crawled onto the bed between Geralt’s legs, slapping the witcher’s hand away so he could swallow him down. He’d forgotten just how _thick_ Geralt was, gagging on him. 

Jaskier moaned when he felt Chi’s lips against his cheek, and fingers slick with oil rubbing against his hole. Geralt’s hands were in his hair, but he didn’t shove or pull. No, they were loving, caring, gentle even, by gods. Jaskier’s whine turned to a moan when he felt Chireadan’s cock pushing gently into him. He pushed his hips back, dragging his fingertips down Geralt’s chest as he did. Gods, did that arouse him. The motion between Chireadan fucking him and his own bobbing over the witcher’s cock was working him up. 

Jaskier pulled off of Geralt with a gasp, sitting up and turning his head to kiss Chireadan. **“I want you both,”** he groaned. His cock twitched in anticipation at that idea.

**“Are you sure, my love?”** Chi cupped his jaw and kissed him hard. Jaskier nodded through a moan. **“We’ll need more oil,”** the elf chuckled, pulling out of the bard to get the vial. Jaskier repositioned himself over Geralt’s hips, finding a hand on him instantly.

**“Both of us?”** Geralt asked him.

**“Well I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t mean it,”** he reached back to stroke Geralt, which in turn instigated the witcher to pull harder on him. Chireadan returned, kissing his neck and taking Geralt’s cock in hand to coat it. He helped guide the witcher in first, and Jaskier groaned loudly as he was filled. This was going to be rough, but he wanted it. Gods, did he want it. The bard bounced and rocked on Geralt, steadying himself with one palm against the wall. 

Chireadan continued to work him open, whispering delicious and naughty things in Elder Speech, knowing that it was driving the bard wild. When he stilled Jaskier’s hips to gently push in, and the feeling of being _so full_ made him moan and scramble for purchase, ending up with his hands firmly on Geralt’s shoulders. Chireadan grunted softly as he began to rock, thrusting inside Jaskier and against Geralt. Jaskier could feel his eyes glazing over, and his cock ached, needing to be touched. 

He was moaning, or at least he thought he was, but Jaskier was babbling out some incoherent string of words. Chi was kissing his shoulder and Geralt’s hands were all over him, and he was doing all he could to thrust back against them. **“Jaskier, focus,”** Geralt’s dark tone drew him in, and the hand around his neck actually did exactly what the witcher intended. Jaskier stared down at him, mouth open, body screaming for release. He got it as soon as Geralt pulled on his cock, spilling all over the witcher’s chest. 

Geralt held his throat firmly, without making Jaskier feel as though he might pass out, and Chireadan held him fast about the waist. Both men kept him centered and in place, and Jaskier was able to bounce a little on them, until Chireadan came with a long moan, pressing hard into Jaskier’s back. 

**“Geralt…Geralt c’mon…I need it…I need you…”** Jaskier tipped his head back against the healer’s shoulder, and the witcher grabbed his hips hard in both hands, fucking up into him with intense speed and power. They were all groaning and shuddering, and Geralt shouted his climax a moment later, the sound punching out of his throat. Chireadan slid out and collapsed onto the bed beside Geralt, who lifted Jaskier off his cock. The bard was sweating, worn out, and could barely protest when he was laid between them. 

He turned to face Chireadan, kissing the elf slowly. **“Are you happy, my love?”** the healer whispered, pushing Jaskier’s hair back. The bard nodded, his eyes already heavy. He felt Geralt roll towards him, wrapping his arm around Jaskier’s waist. The feeling was so familiar, and Jaskier felt himself melt into the touch. There was something unreadable in the elf’s expression, but no answer came for it. Jaskier pulled him close, nuzzling his nose into Chireadan’s neck, knowing his beard tickled the healer’s skin. 

**“I love you, Chi.”** Jaskier heard them both mutter something, but was too far gone into sleep to hear whatever it was they said. He felt warm and safe and _home_ between them both, and didn’t care that he was completely physically exhausted by what had just happened. It was more than worth it.


	7. From Now Until Then

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a while to get out! Life's been crazy, and work has been super hectic. Please enjoy!
> 
> Artwork is from the lovely SweetInsanity, @sweetinsanityarts on Instagram and @sweetinsanityx3 on Twitter!

Jaskier was half-woken by the gentle tones of the two men on either side of him. He wasn’t quite ready to be awake yet, so remained still, feeling Geralt’s arm warm around his waist, and Chireadan’s hand softly tangled in his hair. It was honestly so comforting to be enclosed like this, between a witcher and an elf, that he was half tempted to just wake up and get the day started properly with them. His hand slid to Geralt’s, and the Witcher held it gently, but Jaskier went still when he listened to what was being said.

“But he still loves you,” Chireadan whispered. Jaskier recognized that tone of voice, and it stung. That was the elf’s tone of hurt and resignation. Why did Chi sound like this? The bard didn’t know if he should open his eyes and let them know he was awake. No…let Chi know he was awake. Geralt already knew. If he hadn’t taken his hand, he could have simply listened for the bard’s breathing, or his heartbeat. 

“But he loves you now, not a memory of you,” Geralt grumbled. Why didn’t he say anything? Jaskier could feel his heart begin to race. He didn’t know what they had been talking about before this, but it made his stomach drop to think of the implication in Chireadan’s tone.

“He spent more than a decade with you, Geralt. And fewer than a handful of years with me. I saw the look in his eyes, he-”

“He belongs here with _you_ , Chi.” It made Jaskier’s heart drop, to wonder what the conversation might have been before that. He was going to have to remind the elf how important he was. Chireadan made a soft noise of discontent, and Jaskier felt him lean down to kiss his forehead. The bard shifted softly with a grunt, acting as though he was just waking. 

“Jaskier,” Chireadan spoke softly, lifting his jaw and planting gentle kisses all over his face. “Would you like some breakfast?” Jaskier blinked himself awake finally, and was greeted with a soft, but sad, smile. He lifted his hand from Geralt’s and cupped Chireadan’s face with it, leaning up for a kiss. 

“Breakfast sounds wonderful, my love. What would you like?” Chireadan kissed him back, and then kissed his forehead, slipping out of Jaskier’s grasp.

“You rest a bit longer. You’ve had a big night. I’ll get something together,” the elf gave Geralt a slight look before leaving the room. Jaskier sat up to watch him, and the witcher lazily nuzzled into his side, like this was a completely normal day for them.

“You’ve been awake a while,” Geralt grunted against him, wrapping his arm around Jaskier’s waist. The bard found himself pulled back down to the bed, and a witcher pressed as hard against him as he could possibly manage.

“What were you two discussing before I woke up?” he asked quietly. Jaskier let himself turn towards Geralt and be embraced warmly. Geralt had never held him like this before, not in all the years they traveled together. Jaskier hit the witcher’s chest when he got a grunt as an answer. “Tell me. If you’ve upset Chi at all-”

“He thinks you’d be happier traveling with me,” Geralt finally answered. Jaskier pulled away from him then, staring with a dumb expression. “I didn’t agree either,” the witcher added, “And he was saying the most ridiculous things.”

“He was right. I…I heard some of it. But Geralt, I love _him_ too. I’m happy here. I’m getting older, Geralt. I can’t keep up with you like I did when I was twenty.” Jaskier laughed softly, and he didn’t miss the small furrowing of Geralt’s brow. Had he forgotten that humans didn’t live quite as long as witchers and elves? Or had he hoped that Jaskier was somehow immune to that particular side effect of humanity? 

“What do you want, then?” Geralt’s voice was heartbreakingly soft, and he couldn’t help but kiss the witcher, for how hopelessly lost he was sure they both felt.

“I want you both. I want to live here, with my Chi. But I want you to come back to us. I saw what he did for you…I don’t think I’ve ever seen you open like that for anyone. Geralt, I can’t go where you’re going anymore.” For the first time Jaskier had ever known, the witcher dropped his gaze, and it looked like he was biting his cheek to keep from…responding? Crying? He didn’t know. 

“I’ve missed you. The Cub-”

“The what?”

Geralt looked at him again with a brief moment of panic. “The…Lion Cub. Of Cintra.” Jaskier’s eyes went wide, but the witcher cut him off before he could ask. “I found her. I’m protecting her.”

“So who’d you leave her with to come chasing after me, then, Geralt?” Those golden eyes looked away in shame again, and Jaskier had to take his chin to force him to keep eye contact. This had never been a problem before.

“She’s…at an inn. Close by.”

“Oh for Melitele’s sake, Geralt…”

“I know, Jask. But she’s capable. She’s the reason I came to find you.”

Whether his conscience had finally caught up to him, or whether the princess had convinced him to do it, Geralt had returned to him. If Chireadan hadn’t been there to help, he would have likely sent Geralt away in anger and grief. He almost had, in fact. He’d been ready to let the witcher run away. “Well she’s got more brains than a princess has the right to,” Jaskier bleakly joked. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the ceiling, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “How often do you think you’ll be coming through?”

Geralt shrugged, but finally rolled out of bed to at least put on a pair of trousers. “At least once a year…this place is fairly central. If a season is slow…I might stay a bit longer. I’m not sure what will happen with Ciri just yet. And winters I’ll be going back to Kaer Morhen. I’m taking her there. To train. She’s destined to save the Path.” 

Jaskier didn’t give a damn about the Path, he just gave a damn about Geralt. And it wasn’t fair to consider losing him again, now that he’d just gotten the bastard back. He sighed and rolled out of bed, stumbling slightly as he looked for a fresh pair of breeches. “You should probably see to your princess, then. And we can come meet you later, or you can come back here. How-”

“I should really only stay for a day or two longer. Took long enough working up to speaking to you again.” The confession took Jaskier by surprise, and he wondered, but didn’t want to ask, how long Geralt had been in their town. Waiting, watching. Whatever it was he did. The bard groaned and pulled on his trousers, leaning on the wall and debating a chemise at the very least. He decided against it in the end. What was the point of dressing modestly in his own home?

Chireadan was cooking pork and some eggs when Jaskier slowly made his way down to the kitchen. He wrapped his arms around the elf’s waist from behind, nuzzling into his neck. Chireadan rubbed his cheek back against Jask, and his breath was hitching slightly. 

“Love, what’s wrong?” Jask turned him to see his eyes red and filled with tears. “Chi…Chi talk to me. Do you…regret last night?” The elf turned back to the food, shaking his head.

“No. Last night was beautiful. I would gladly do this again, over and over. When you return.” 

Jaskier felt like he’d been punched in the gut, and hugged Chireadan hard from behind. “Darling, what the hell are you on about? Where am I going?”

Chireadan was breathing shakily, but finding comfort in cooking their breakfast. “With…with Geralt, aren’t you? Going back to the way things were, and traveling again. Filling the continent with your music.” The elf held in a sob that wracked his body, making him drop the wooden spoon. It clattered noisily to the floor and Chireadan cursed in Elder. Jaskier moved the dishes away from their little fires, pulling the elf into his arms to let him cry. 

“Chi, love…Chi…I’m not going anywhere. How could I leave you? Darling…you’re my world. I love you. Look at me…” Jaskier lifted the elf’s face to look him in the eye, kissing him tenderly. “I love Geralt, yes. But I’m not going anywhere, do you hear me? I _love_ you. With all I have. So you get this out of your head right now, alright? I’m here. I’m staying here. I’m with you. If Geralt wants us… _us_ , Chi…then he can come back to us.” 

Chireadan nodded and hugged the bard back, hard. Jaskier heard his back creak, but yanked the elf into a kiss when he tried to pull back and apologize. “Then…I…Jask, I put thoughts in your eyes that were never there, I should-”

“You hush, silly elf. You were worried that I was just…here until the witcher came to his senses? Chi…I’m going to cancel my lecture this week and spend the days showing you how much I want to be here with you.” Jaskier kissed him again, and he leaned in to nibble on the space where Chireadan’s neck curved to his shoulder. 

“That sounds wonderful,” the elf sighed, running his palms up Jaskier’s back. 

“Ah ah, breakfast, darling.”

It was delicious.

  


* * *

  


Geralt went back to his inn, and returned with a princess and their bags. Chireadan had invited them to stay in their spare bedroom for the remainder of their time. Jaskier was instantly smitten with the girl, especially when she confessed she had always hoped to meet him someday, and hear some of his songs. Jaskier was all too happy to perform for her, and delighted in the way she chided Geralt for having taken so long to do this. He laughed even more at the sheepish look on Geralt’s face. 

They all sat for a dinner (and Geralt cooked surprisingly delicious meals with proper kitchenware), and exchanged stories by the fire later that night. Jaskier and Chireadan didn’t make love that night, but instead the most intimate kisses and whispers between each other as they sighed themselves to sleep. Geralt and Ciri left the next day, and the witcher left with the promise to return after the first thaw of spring. He shared a kiss with both Jaskier and Chi, and as soon as they were out of view, the pair retreated for a vigorous afternoon of fucking. 

The weeks after were the happiest days of Jaskier’s life, though he would continue to count just about any day as the best. So long as he and Chireadan were together, every day was the best of days. Jaskier began to write songs in Elder Speech, and was especially proud of the particularly dirty ditties that made Chi blush and sputter, and only a few of the students from Oxenfurt really knew more than a handful of phrases and could get the general idea of the songs were about.

Chireadan made an effort to stock up on the meats and wines Geralt had favored, as spring neared. And after the thaw, the witcher returned alone. He’d left Ciri in Kaer Morhen, to continue her training with the others. For once, Jaskier saw Geralt truly relax and not worry about things beyond his control. No monsters, no destiny. It was just the three of them, and so it would be for many springs to come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is only the end of this particular arc in the series. Another installation is already underway for these boys. See you soon!


End file.
